Old Wounds Revisited
by Eady of Old
Summary: When the shrapnel in Bates' knee shifts unexpectedly, the pain is nearly unbearable. Will he and Anna be able to cope with the change in his circumstances, or will it be enough to finally break them apart?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: When the shrapnel in Bates' knee shifts unexpectedly, the pain is nearly unbearable. Will he and Anna be able to cope with the change in his circumstances, or will it be enough to finally break them apart?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, only this particular configuration of words.**

**A/N: This story will be angsty. I began writing with the premise which I know from experience, that there's one thing which can alter people's personalities rather quickly - pain. Pain can change people, especially when it is ever-present and inescapable. I've tried to keep Bates as in character as possible for this story while also remembering that he is not infallible. I'm also ignoring the season 4 storyline cause I can't make this story work with it, so assume it is set sometime after season 3.**

* * *

The shrapnel in his knee shifted.

Bates felt it the moment it happened as he took one of the last steps downstairs. Placing his weight on it when he reached the ground was almost excruciating. He leaned heavily on his cane and the railing as he took a moment to collect himself and see through the pain.

Mrs. Hughes happened by. Of course, it would be her to witness such a moment, the moment he'd feared for years.

"Are you alright, Mister Bates?" she asked, motherly concern written across her features.

"I'm fine," he forced out. "Just took a bad step."

"Perhaps you should sit down."

She made the suggestion as though he hadn't thought it himself. But it was a long way between the stairs and the servants' hall.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I will do that."

Thankfully, no one happened down the corridor in the next few minutes and his pain was concealed until he reached the table in the servants' hall. There he found Anna, sitting in her favorite chair as she mended a gown for Lady Mary.

One look at his face was all she needed to discern that something had happened. She turned to him as he dropped his weight into the chair beside her.

"What happened?"

He wanted to lie to her, to tell her he was fine. But she was his wife and she deserved to know the truth.

"I think the shrapnel in my knee has moved again. Putting weight on the leg is suddenly unbearable."

He delivered the news frankly, realizing as he did that she would not understand the importance of what he'd just said.

Bates always knew that if his leg ever got bad enough to keep him from walking on it, that he was done. The pain would be too much to work, even if he resolved himself to push through it. Before Anna, he had no notion of how he would live out his life in such a state.

But now he had a wife. He had someone who depended on him and his working wage. The thought of letting her down once more was unthinkable.

"We should call the doctor," Anna said. "Perhaps there's something-"

"There is nothing he can do," Bates interrupted. "The doctors told me years ago that if they attempt to remove the pieces, the damage will make it impossible for me to move the leg at all."

"But maybe Doctor Clarkson-"

He shook his head. "The choice is between using the leg with pain or not using it at all. I made that choice long ago and I'll make it again."

Her eyes filling with worry, Anna observed, "This isn't pain. You were in agony. I could see it."

The rest of his life flashed before his eyes in that moment. Bates could see Anna coming home from work every day, only to take care of him in the evenings and mornings and on her half days. She would be a mother to him rather than the children he'd failed to give her, a nurse forced to work even in her off hours. And she would do it so gladly, he knew, reassuring him and acting to keep his spirits high as she helped him to table for dinner or up the stairs to bed.

People would speculate he'd married her so she could take care of him in this eventuality. The old cripple ensnaring a lovely young woman to look after him. After all they'd been through together – after all Bates had put her through – the thought of that future appalled him.

Forcefully, he pushed himself up from the table. The pain immediately returned as he shared his weight with the bad leg. But if he was careful and made judicious use of the cane, he could stand it, he felt certain.

"Where are you going?" Anna asked. "To the cottage?"

"No," Bates said. "I still have work to do."

"But you can't work like this."

On any other day, he would find her concern for him touching. But on this day, with the pain radiating up his leg from the knee into his thigh and lower back, he could not stand it. She did not pity him, he knew, but he hated appearing so weak in her eyes.

"I have to work," Bates ground out. He set off at a slow walk, letting himself get used to the agony. He knew he'd have to own it and make it his own if he were to get through the day.

He could feel Anna's eyes following him. He wondered if deep down within herself if she ever regretted settling for a man like him. At the same time, he could not bear to know the truth if she did.

* * *

Anna waited to walk him back to the cottage that evening. Several people had remarked to her on how tired her husband looked, but she'd only seen him a few times since their encounter in the servants' hall. He'd missed dinner to catch up on work he'd been too slow to complete during the day, and now he was running more late than usual.

When he finally made his way down the stairs, she could see irritation in his expression.

"You didn't have to wait for me," he scolded her.

"Of course I did," Anna responded. "How is your leg?"

"It is still attached to my body, unfortunately," he remarked dryly. Spending the day on it had obviously done nothing for his mood.

"Do you want to rest before we go home? I can probably scrounge some food for you if you'd rather eat here."

But Bates just shook his head. "If I sit down, I'll never get up again. And I'm not hungry."

They walked to the cottage very slowly. Anna could tell that he worked extra hard to keep her from seeing the pain he felt. But she still worried, her mind working on the problem as it had been all day.

She did not confront him with her solution until they arrived home.

"You're going to see Doctor Clarkson," she informed him. "Tomorrow."

"I've already told you-"

"And now I'm telling you. You can't keep on this way. And even if you can stand the pain, I can't stand to watch you hurting," she revealed. "So tomorrow we'll go see the doctor and see what can be done."

Anna waited, expecting him to argue with her. For all his excellent qualities, she knew her husband could be stubborn. But he also had a curious inability to deny her when she insisted on something.

"If you wish," Bates agreed grudgingly.

"And now you're going to eat dinner and then you're going to let me help you up to bed."

Nodding his ascent, she set to work putting together a small meal for him. He ate in silence as she watched, and she could see him fighting against the embarrassment caused by his situation.

"Anna, there may be nothing the doctor can do," he began.

"You don't know that."

"Whether I do or not, you need to prepare yourself. If nothing can be done, then we will have to accept this."

"I won't accept you torturing yourself every day," she declared.

"I have to work."

"Why do you have to work? They'll let us stay here and with my wages-"

Bates shook his head almost violently. "I won't be a burden on you."

Anna stared at him, horrified. Did he really think that way? Did he really believe he could ever be a burden to her? Even if she had to wait on him hand and foot every moment for the rest of their lives, he could never be a burden.

"I believe my vows included the phrase 'in sickness and in health,' Mister Bates," Anna chided him.

He said nothing for a time, and she stood to clear his dish from the table. Neither of them spoke as she helped him stand, and he made no protest when she put herself under his arm to act as a human crutch as they made their way up the stairs. He leaned on her heavily, but she gladly took his weight, overjoyed to finally be useful to him. He sighed as she deposited him on the side of the bed and watched her as she retrieved his night shirt.

But as Anna returned with it, Bates reached out and took her hands in his. He pulled her to him until she stood before his seated form.

"I love you," he told her simply. "Thank you for your help."

"I love you, too. And you are welcome." Looking down into her husband's eyes, she assured him, "We'll get through this, and we'll do it together."

He inclined his head, apparently accepting her declaration. She moved her hands from his grip to wrap them around his neck, hugging his head to her breast. As the distance between them evaporated, his arms encircled her waist, holding her with a tight grip.

* * *

When he woke from the nightmare a few hours later, the images were still fresh and troubling in his mind. He'd been alone in the forest, stuck in a pit of mud and unable to move his legs. The cold wrapped around him, clenching the night air so tightly that each breath stabbed his lungs like tiny knives.

And then suddenly, he wasn't alone. Anna was there beside him in the thin linen shift she so often wore to bed. While she was not stuck in the mud, she struggled to help free him. Ignoring her chattering teeth and shivering muscles, Anna tugged and pulled at him with all her strength. Mud quickly caked her arms and legs and stained her shift. In the distance, he heard the sound of wolves howling, but Anna ignored it, keeping her sole focus on helping him.

The wolves grew closer until he could make out movement in the shadows behind her. Bates urged his wife to leave him, to run away and save herself. But she did not even acknowledge his entreaties. Her movements had grown sluggish, her skin pale and even her lips taking on a faintly blue tinge.

"I won't leave you," she promised him, even as one of the wolves nipped at her bare feet. Anna's scream came at the same moment he saw the blood – she was covered in it. And then the scream abruptly stopped.

Bates sat up in bed, the spell broken. A quick glance confirmed that Anna lay safe beside him, still asleep. But the room had grown cold during the night. Unconsciously, he slipped out from under the covers to retrieve another blanket from the closet on the opposite side of the room.

The moment his knee hit the floor, intense pain shot through his leg. Gritting his teeth, Bates forced himself to limp to the closet. He would not wake Anna to get the blanket, and he would not let them freeze because of the pain from his injury. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, with Anna's blood refusing to leave his vision. Few would argue what the dream had symbolized – his disability was going to bring her to ruin.

He was going to bring her to ruin.

But he could not let that happen.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the great reviews! You guys rock. In a system of writing like this, feedback of others is the only currency we see and the greatest reward.**

**Also big thanks to the guest reviewer who discussed the medical implications of this story. I did a little research before beginning and even more before posting this chapter. Some things I did to work within the story, but hopefully most of it is at least believable.**

* * *

The visit to Dr. Clarkson went much as Bates anticipated. The doctor could tell him little as he had not performed the surgery on the knee himself. He did opine that the army doctors who had dealt with the injury had done so hurriedly, the horrible scars a testament to their rudimentary treatment.

"Shrapnel left in soft tissue rarely causes problems. However, in your joint..." Clarkson grimaced. "Much of the pain is likely caused by synovitis, an inflammation of the membranes of the joint. It might be possible to remove the shrapnel, but based on what you have described, it may have migrated and may be resting near a nerve. Short of cutting you open and attempting to remove the shrapnel, not much can be done. But even attempting to remove the metal at this time may be dangerous," he advised. "Of course, there are specialists in London you could see who may be able to help better than I can."

Doctor Clarkson gave him some pills to help with the pain, but they barely touched the agony radiating from his knee. He nearly fell on the walk back from the hospital and had to lean heavily on Anna in order to get home. Sardonically, he took note of how quickly he'd become a burden - a literal physical burden - to his wife.

But Anna hated seeing him hurting so much. Even when she had gotten him back to the cottage and sat down on their couch with his leg propped up, she could see that his knee still bothered him tremendously.

"What can I do?" she asked, feeling helpless.

"Nothing," he sighed in clear misery. "Nothing can be done. You heard what the doctor said."

Anna's heart ached for him. "Is there anything we can do to lessen the pain? What did you do after you were injured?"

"I drank whiskey," Bates said blandly. "Lots and lots of whiskey."

"Did it help with the pain?"

He shook his head. "It made it so I didn't care about the pain. Or much else, for that matter."

She watched as he forced a smile, the deep lines in his face betraying its falsity. "You should go to work," he advised. "I'll be fine for today. But I'll need to talk to His Lordship soon."

Anna nodded, knowing as well as he that Bates would not be able to continue working in this condition. She left him there with a heavy heart, returning to Downton to complete her day.

Both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes asked about him, and she told them the truth, that her husband's war injury had begun troubling him more than usual. A trip to Dr. Clarkson had produced no results, but they were still discussing options.

However, there was no discussion between her and her husband. When she brought it up that night after returning home, he flatly refused to go to London to see the specialist, claiming that he'd done so before when the wound was new and was told nothing could be done.

"There is no point in traveling all the way to London only to be told the same thing as Doctor Clarkson has said."

"But that was years ago," Anna argued. "They may have new tools, new techniques."

But Bates shook his head, the pain in his leg leading him to being short with her. "I said I won't go."

"But John-"

"Anna, enough! I said _no_," he snapped at her. Sighing at his outburst a moment later, Bates said more quietly, "I'm sorry. I just..."

"You're hurting," she observed, the sympathy in her voice absolving him of all guilt. "Pain does strange things to people."

"I should be used to pain," he said bitterly. "But it hurts even when I'm not standing on it. I can't get a break from it."

His words followed her throughout her days as she thought about him sitting at the cottage, enduring the pain. As she moved about Downton helping dress Lady Mary and attend to her other duties, her mind stayed at home with her husband. She could see his anguished expression as he struggled to cope with the continuing agony wrought by his injury. If only there was something she could do...

By that afternoon, she had made up her mind. Anna did not come to the decision lightly. Nor was she completely comfortable with her decision, but if there was anything that could give her husband some respite, anything at all, she had to consider it.

* * *

"I've brought you something."

She set the bottle of whiskey on the table beside him with a heavy thud, almost too heavy, as though she were unfamiliar with the weight of it. Bates turned to look at the brown bottle and then at her.

"No," he said simply.

"If it will help you deal with the pain-"

Bates shook his head. "You don't know how hard it was for me to stop drinking. I won't return to it."

Anna frowned. "You know I would never normally suggest it. But you're in so much pain... You don't know how hard it is to watch you endure this."

Breathing out sharply, he warned, "Anna, you wouldn't like to see me drunk any more than seeing me as I am now. I was not a nice person back then."

"But surely it would be different for you now? If you used it as medicine, perhaps. People take opium to feel better even though it can be addictive."

"I said no." He spoke with clipped words, almost seething.

"I won't push you any more," she answered softly, gently. "But it is here if you want it."

Anna left it on the table next to him along with a glass as she went about the chores required at their cottage. He'd attempted to do some of them while she was at work, but the pain caused by standing on his leg quickly became too much to bear. The medicine he'd gotten from Doctor Clarkson barely helped at all and it made him too drowsy to accomplish much of anyway. Bates was as useless to her at home as he was at Downton.

He eyed the bottle of whiskey. Anna had gotten a higher quality brand than he used to drink. Vera had always bought the cheapest stuff she could find, and plenty of it.

Bates did not touch the bottle, not at first. Instead he sat on the couch in their sitting room watching Anna move about the cottage, attending to all the things on her half day off which she did not have time to do in the late evenings when she returned home from work. She scrubbed the kitchen, including the floor and the stove. She did the laundry and hung it up on a line in the back yard, only to bring in the sun-dried clothes hours later to fold them and stow them away. She ironed his shirts and mended his underthings, even the ones which were getting a bit threadbare in places.

For hours, Anna worked tirelessly. And when she was finally finished, she brought him a cup of tea and some biscuits before offering to read to him for a while.

Her selflessness nearly did him in.

When she finally went upstairs for bed late in the evening, clearly exhausted from her efforts, she offered to help him up the stairs. But Bates refused. He'd already resolved himself to sleeping on the couch, or what little sleep he could actually get any more. Anna needed her rest and him tossing and turning with the pain in his leg would do her no favors. She frowned at his decision but did not argue. Since the injury, he'd spent only half his nights sharing their bed and often the effort required to walk the stairs was more trouble than it was worth.

Sometime in the night, Bates stood and limped to the facilities. The movement left him in agony and without even thinking about it, on his return to the sitting room he reached for the bottle of whiskey Anna had left for him. He looked down at it for a long time, his mind clouded with pain as the darkness around him pressed uncomfortably. He could feel his mother watching from beyond the veil, urging him to resist the siren's call of that bottle. And just as clearly, he could imagine Vera's gleeful grin at the sight of him falling from grace.

Bates could still remember so many nights with Vera, when the alcohol clouded their judgment and impaired their patience to the point that all they did was shout and fight. Or rather, Vera fought. She enjoyed throwing things at him, especially sharp things which broke easily and sliced the skin. The actions angered him, and he threw back at her his words, stinging and barbed. And some nights they were intimate. He would not term it 'making love,' as there was no love in such moments, only lust fueled by anger and lost inhibitions. The mornings were often full of regrets and vague recriminations for half-remembered sins of the other.

He set the bottle down and pushed it away. He did not drink it that night.

But three nights later, with the pain still making it impossible for him to sleep as shadows of ghosts looked on, Bates gave in and poured himself a glass.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, the response to this story has been amazing! I'm glad it resonates with so many people considering the difficult subject matter. I appreciate everyone who has left a review or sent me a private message. Recognizing the difficulty in reading dark stories such as this, I hope you all will continue to let me know what you think. **

* * *

He opened the bottle the evening after his meeting with Lord Grantham at Downton. The walk up to the house both exhausted and humiliated him as he had to stop frequently and rely on Anna's assistance. The way the other servants stopped and watched as he passed them in the servant's corridor was particularly difficult.

The pity in Lord Grantham's eyes was the worst.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" the Earl asked, in much the same voice as Anna had inquired.

"No, milord," Bates answered, refusing to sit for this meeting despite the screaming pain in his knee. "Doctor Clarkson confirmed the information given to me by the army doctors years ago. Perhaps if I am lucky, the shrapnel will move again so that the pain is not so great, but until then..."

He sighed, hating to put his employer in such a difficult position.

"Well, you and Anna may remain in the cottage of course, as long as she's working here," Lord Grantham stated off-handedly. "Assuming you can manage it."

"We can," Bates confirmed, speaking for his absent wife who was at that moment attending to Lady Mary. He and Anna both loved the cottage, and even if he could contribute little to its maintenance, she would do everything in her power to keep them in their tiny home.

The other man nodded, thoughtful and distracted as he glanced down at the cane in Bates' hand.

"I'll have to hire a new valet," he said apologetically.

The sting of those words almost hurt more than the throbbing of his knee, but Bates forced himself to nod and answered, "I understand, milord."

"Perhaps if your leg starts to feel better soon, we can work something out. But if this is a long-term problem..."

"Which I anticipate it being," he sighed. "I would love nothing more than to return to your service if things work themselves out, but until then..."

Bates returned the other man's shrug.

"And how is Anna taking this?" Lord Grantham asked.

"It is difficult for her, for both of us. I hate being a burden on her."

"I understand how hard it must be for you, Bates-"

The condescension in his voice irritated the injured man, and he said sharply, "You don't understand, milord." Pausing, he added, "With all due respect, you have no idea how it feels to be confronted with the reality of not being able to support your wife."

Lord Grantham went silent for a moment. Finally, he answered with great seriousness, "You're right, Bates. I don't know how that feels. But you need not worry about Anna. She will always have a position at Downton."

Nodding, he accepted the statement as it was intended - a relief of the worry about his wife left destitute if he were truly crippled.

"Thank you. I could not ask for more," he said.

Bates turned to leave, but just before he reached the door, the Earl called out behind him, "I'm sorry, Bates. I truly am."

"As am I, milord," he answered, forcing down a grimace of pain. "As am I."

* * *

"What did he say?" Anna asked that evening as she returned home from the house.

Bates had not moved from his place on the couch since returning from Downton himself. His suit pants had begun to wrinkle and he noticed Anna's disapproving expression, likely at his laziness in not changing. But the pain was too great to attempt the stairs, so he'd collapsed on the couch downstairs and waited the hours for her to return.

"He said that he'll need to hire a new valet. Not unexpected, of course."

Anna nodded. They both knew it would be unreasonable to hope that His Lordship would keep the position open, not with the nature of Bates' injury so indefinite.

He went on, "We should be able to keep the cottage, if we can manage it."

"I can take care of things," she said quickly. "We needn't worry on that score."

Bates sighed at the work she would be taking on herself. Even before, she had done a great deal of the house work, but at least he could contribute by bringing in coal, doing minor repairs, and the like. Now most of that would fall on her shoulders.

"I told him as such," he said softly. The shame of letting Anna do so much while he sat about doing nothing left him feeling empty and nauseous. What good was he to her like this?

Seeing the look of despair on his face, Anna insisted, "It won't be forever, just until we can figure out what we can do to help you. Maybe a specialist-"

"A specialist will only charge us a great deal of money to tell us what I already know," Bates interrupted her, his anger rising quickly at this subject being raised again.

"But if there's a chance..."

"I'd rather save the money in case you need it in the future."

Anna frowned as she contradicted him, "I don't need money. I need you feeling better. That's worth more to me than anything money can buy." She swiftly added, "And perhaps Lord Grantham would pay for any needed surgery. He did so for Mrs. Patmore with her eyes."

"Unfortunately, I am no longer in the employ of His Lordship," Bates said stiffly.

She hesitated before speaking, and he could tell by her expression what she was about to say. "But weren't you injured saving him in the war?" she inquired. "That should mean something."

"That debt was paid long ago," Bates answered. "And I'd prefer not to discuss it further. I hate to ask, but would you mind making tea? I've had nothing since breakfast..."

Having effectively ended the conversation, he watched as Anna went into the kitchen and began preparing them tea and an evening meal. He noted the slump of her shoulders and the way she absently massaged her tired muscles. Were she living at Downton rather than the cottage, she'd have eaten in the servants' hall and already be in bed. Instead, she now had the added job of cooking for him.

After they ate together, a silent meal, Bates waited for her to go up to bed before turning to look at the bottle which had been sitting untouched on the table for the past three days. He remembered from years before the burn of the amber liquor as it coated his throat and the warmth that spread through him when it hit his stomach. The haziness which surrounded him like mist obscured the sharpness of his pain and for a time allowed him to hide from his own wretchedness.

But if nothing else, he decided as he poured two fingers into the glass, it might allow him to help Anna do some of the necessary work around their cottage.

* * *

His limbs felt light and free for the first time in weeks. The pain was there, as stark and never-ending as ever, but he cared little about it. The whiskey helped with that, with the not caring. Bates remembered when he'd first been injured and shipped home from the war. The alcohol had dulled both the pain in his leg and the pain at seeing his wife look on him with utter scorn. Vera had no use for a cripple, and her beautiful face quickly turned ugly with disgust as she informed him of this fact.

Bates did not get drunk on the whiskey Anna had brought him, not at first. At first he drank with deliberate moderation, rationing out each portion as though he were an apothecary doling out medicine. But as each day went by, the days turning into weeks, he found himself needing to drink more to achieve the same result of not caring about the pain.

Walking on his leg so much did not help matters, but he did what work he could to justify drinking the whiskey. He hobbled outside to retrieve coal and to take down laundry from the line. In the evenings, he prepared tea for Anna, even though the effort left his knee alight with pain and he finished his days in a bad mood from the torture of it.

"I want you to stop doing so much," Anna finally scolded him. "The purpose of the alcohol was so you could have less pain, not more. I can do all these things for both of us. You concentrate on trying to rest and heal your leg as much as you can."

But Bates quickly realized that the inactivity left him with a great deal of free time to look at that whiskey bottle. Reading no longer held much appeal as the pain proved too distracting to focus. He worked on mending and projects that Anna brought him home from Downton, but even they left him frustrated and angry.

The whiskey helped with both the pain and his own anger, draining away from him the unfair envy he felt at seeing Anna so hale and healthy. While he did not resent her ability to walk so easily, he wondered what things would be like if he'd never been injured in the defense of king and country. Would Anna still have fallen in love with him? Or did his disability turn him into a "project" she could take on, a man she could fix and heal?

Bates' mind only turned to such uncharitable thoughts while he was drinking. And while he tried to keep to a strict regiment, he quickly found it all too easy to pour an extra glass. Sometimes his hands moved to take the action without even consulting his mind. The whiskey quickly became his favorite thing and one of the only joys in life while Anna was gone from the cottage.

But his wife watched him with concern. She regretted her decision, he suspected, as she witnessed him grow more angry and short with her. She wanted to ask him to stop, he knew, but she never did. She refused to chastise him because she knew the agony he endured every time he took one step with his bad leg. Instead, Anna silently supplied his addiction, bringing him bottle after bottle when he asked for it.

Bates knew he was skating a dangerous line. He knew he was a drunkard, knew he could not handle the bottle. He'd gone through so much to kick the habit before. He'd even gone to prison, ultimately, after Vera's escapade with the regimental silver. But he had realized that he needed it to get through the day in his new condition. So he drank just enough. Or so he believed.

"What else can I do?" Anna asked one evening, as she disposed of yet another empty bottle of whiskey. He sat on the couch in their sitting room, his leg propped up on a stool in front of him. He held the last of the amber liquor in a glass in his hand.

"You can wave a magic wand and make it all better," he suggested dryly.

Anna sighed. "You know I would if I had the power."

"I know," he lamented. "I know. You'd do anything, if I asked it."

He knew Anna's love for him knew no bounds. She gave of herself for him, more than he could possibly ever hope to deserve. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the phrase 'with great power comes great responsibility.'

"I'd do anything to take your pain away," Anna confirmed.

"Would you shoot me in the head? Because that's the only thing that would really help right now."

He watched her grimace at the suggestion. "Please don't speak that way," she requested.

"Why? What good am I to you alive? I might as well be dead."

He'd considered taking his own life, both to spare himself the pain and to save Anna the trouble of having to care for him. But only in the darkest depths of intoxication did he ever really think about going through with it. And it always came back to a single question – would Anna's life be better without him?

"I don't think I could live without you," Anna said flatly, effectively answering that inquiry.

And with her words came the stark realization that he had once again ruined a woman's life. First it had been Vera – angry, lustful Vera who never failed to remind him of his shortcomings. Bates could live with himself for those transgressions, knowing Vera had been as much to blame for their failed marriage as himself.

But Anna…

He looked at her through watery, bloodshot eyes and in an instant saw himself reflected back in her expression. He'd ruined Anna's life as well. Her husband was a cripple fifteen years her elder, a convicted murderer. And now in addition to being a truly useless invalid, he was a drunkard as well.

"Why do you love me?" he asked her. Because he knew she loved him. The love shining out from her eyes was inescapable.

Anna did not answer him right away. When she did, she spoke softly, almost reverently. "Because you are a good man. You conduct yourself with honor and integrity. When you say my name, I know I am the most precious person in the world to you. Your kindness to others, even those undeserving, is amazing to me. You have no false pride. Indeed, you count yourself as unworthy in so many ways I can't understand. You are loyal and intelligent and so incredibly loving…"

She finally looked away, her eyes brimming with tears. "It kills me to see you hurting so much," she told him.

Bates looked at the glass of whiskey in his hand and then back at his wife. Her eyes stayed on him, not on the drink. With newfound resolution to control his drinking, pushed himself up so they could go to bed. But a quick glance at his glass showed there was still liquid remaining. Looking at Anna and then back again, he quickly reached for the glass and downed the remainder.

He would do better in the morning, he decided, his cheeks burning hotly as he saw the concern on his wife's face.

* * *

TBC

**A/N: For the guest who offered to provide me research on this subject, feel free to message me! I unfortunately cannot contact you directly as a guest reviewer.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know this story has been pretty angsty (I did provide a warning!) so I'm glad for the readers who are sticking it through. I promise to post a fluffy story soon as a break from all the angst.**

**Big thank you to John for expertise on the historical medical information and other great ideas. And thanks to everyone who's left a review or sent a message letting me know what you think of this story so far. Keep the feedback coming! **

* * *

Bates tried.

Every day, he attempted to resist the siren's pull of the bottle. He urged Anna to store the whiskey on a shelf in the kitchen so it would not be in easy reach, and he endured both the shame and the pain in his knee as he limped into the other room each time he wanted a drink of the stuff.

On Anna's insistence, he decided to see Dr. Clarkson again about stronger pain medication. On Lord Grantham's request, the doctor stopped off at the cottage to check on the Earl's former valet. While the whiskey bottle was still in its cabinet, Bates did not hide the glass sitting on the table next to him, nor did he avoid the doctor's questioning gaze.

"The human body isn't intended to endure this level of pain for so long," Clarkson noted with clear irritation. "I had expected you to see a specialist by now."

"I doubt there's much they can do for me, even in London," Bates responded with equal annoyance.

Clarkson did not react to this statement but went on, "I can give you morphine to help with the pain. I must warn you that it is possible to become addicted. It shouldn't be a problem for you with as much pain as you are in, but if you have struggled with such things before..."

Bates sat stone-faced for a moment before looking at the empty glass. "I have."

The doctor nodded, apparently grateful for the truth. "You should know, Mister Bates, that it would be very dangerous to mix morphine with alcohol. The effects aren't fully known, but I've read about cases of coma and even death."

Bates glanced from the doctor back to the empty glass next to him. He considered silently for a long time before looking back at Clarkson.

"Are there any other options?" he asked.

"I could prescribe you barbitone, which is a potent sedative and will allow you to sleep. But," he looked at Bates squarely, "you shouldn't take it with alcohol, either."

Bates nodded in understanding.

* * *

For the first night in weeks, Bates slept the full night through without being woken by the pain. The relief was unimaginable and he started his day in a much better mood than usual, despite a bit of fogginess leftover from the sedative. Determined to forgo his morning glass of whiskey, he sat outside enjoying the fresh air instead. Anna had already gone to Downton early that morning and he would not see her until the evening.

But after an hour passed, the pain gradually reemerged as the primary thought on Bates' mind. He thought about taking another sedative and sleeping away the afternoon until Anna's return after dark. With nothing to do to fill the hours and try to ignore that voice in the back of his head demanding he pour a glass of whiskey, the notion of sleep was enticing.

Just as he stood to return inside, not yet decided on whether he should head to bed or the kitchen cabinet which held the bottle, he saw a figure approaching down the lane. As the individual grew closer, he recognized her.

"Mrs. Hughes," he greeted the housekeeper. "What brings you all the way down here?"

The woman smiled at him kindly. "I thought I'd see how you were getting on."

Nodding, Bates invited, "Please come inside. I can make us tea."

Ignoring the pain in his knee and forcing any sign of it from showing as he made tea, Bates sat across from Mrs. Hughes at the table. He said nothing, but rather waited for her to speak, to explain her reason for visiting him in the middle of the day when his wife was still at Downton.

"I'm concerned about Anna," she revealed soon enough. "I know you have enough on your mind what with your injury, but I'm very worried about her. She frets about you constantly, down here by yourself all day."

This information cut through several layers of Bates' self pity and struck him in the heart. "She needn't worry," he said aloud, swallowing uncomfortably.

"She's your wife," the housekeeper stated blandly. "Of course she worries. And for good reason from what I've heard."

"And what have you heard?"

Taking a deep breath, a clear indication that Mrs. Hughes was about to tell him more of the truth than he would like to hear, she began, "I've heard from Anna that you're in terrible pain, but you refuse to go to a doctor in London. I've heard from His Lordship - who is very concerned about you, by the way – that your stubbornness is almost legendary. I'm afraid I can also attest to that, Mister Bates. But what concerns me worst of all is the rumors I've heard from the village… I know that Anna does not drink, of course, but she's taken to buying several bottles of whiskey every week."

Stiffly, Bates nodded at the list she'd drawn out for him. "Yes, I can see why you'd be worried about her."

"Perhaps it is time for you to see the doctor," she suggested.

"I have seen Doctor Clarkson," Bates stated. "Very soon I plan to go on a daily regime of morphine to help control the pain. I just need to… settle some things first, to prepare."

"What sort of things?" the housekeeper asked nosily.

Hating to admit his addiction to someone who used to hold him in such high esteem, Bates resorted to sharpness. "Private things, Mrs. Hughes."

The woman frowned at him, obviously not pleased with his reluctance to speak on the matter.

"You know, everyone at Downton cares about you and Anna very much," she began.

"They care about _Anna_," he interrupted, "as they rightly should."

Mrs. Hughes agreed, "Anna is a precious person, yes, but we care about you as well, Mister Bates. You may not wish to admit it, but you have friends here, friends you can count on to help you through trying times."

Her matronly expression betrayed not just concern for him, but a growing fear for Anna. Did she really think he could ever be a threat to his wife, alcohol or no? Or did Mrs. Hughes worry he would destroy Anna's life by being the invalid husband she'd have to give up her best years to care for?

"I appreciate your concern," he said without emotion. "But I can manage my own affairs."

He saw her to the door.

* * *

Unfortunately, Mrs. Hughes' visit had the opposite effect than she likely intended. No sooner was she gone than Bates found himself back at that kitchen cupboard pouring himself a new drink. Enough time had passed since he'd taken the sedative the night before, so he added an bit extra than he normally allowed. Better to drink more earlier, he decided, if he'd have to go without later in the evening.

He thought about Anna for most of the day, his eyes frequently falling on a picture of the two of them they'd had taken in their wedding clothes. While the photo was a recreation of that blessed afternoon, taken after his release from prison, it reminded him of the tears of joy Anna had shed on that fateful day at the registrar's office in Ripon. She'd been so happy as she repeated the official's words, her eyes never leaving Bates'. He could not recall a better memory.

He whiled away the hours with sentiment until Anna returned home, trying to push from his mind Mrs. Hughes' words of concern for her. He and Anna could manage, Bates determined. They'd managed to get through some of life's worst challenges so far, after all.

But when Anna entered the cottage, he recognized even through his intoxication that she walked slowly, both tired and disgruntled.

"How was your day?" he asked, inviting her to sit at the table as he made tea. The cups were still out from his morning with Mrs. Hughes, so he washed them and made a fresh pot while listening to his wife describe her day.

"Horrible," Anna responded truthfully. "Lady Mary was in a proper mood all morning and I have so much mending to catch up on. She's been out and about learning about the estate with Mister Branson, and somehow that seems to mean that she tears holes in all her clothes…"

He set out steaming cups for both of them and settled into a chair across from his wife to listen to the rest of her tale. With the alcohol in his system keeping his mind off the pain, he was able to focus on her as she spoke. While her words entered his mind, his eyes tracked the stress lines on her face and the way her brow knit together to form a sort of permanent crease. Sometimes in the midst of his pain, he forgot how difficult their situation made matters for her as well as for him. He resolved to always keep Anna's well-being at the forefront of his thoughts.

But despite the difficulties she'd faced during her work that day, Anna still afforded him a smile. The brightness of her eyes reassured him.

"How was your day?" she asked in turn. "Mrs. Hughes mentioned that she popped down to check on you."

"Yes, she was very kind," Bates answered briefly. "But the sedative worked well. I was able to sleep the whole night through, so today seemed to go much better."

Nodding, she looked from him to the empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. "Any progress on cutting back?" she asked.

"Some," he said, not counting the word as a true lie. He'd intended to drink less, he truly had. But before he even realized it, the bottle had been finished. Part of him blamed Mrs. Hughes for upsetting him so with her concerns about Anna.

"I missed you," he told her, glad that he could speak with complete truth on at least one front.

"Did you?" she asked, looking pleased.

"I always miss you when you're gone."

She admitted quietly, "Sometimes it feels like you don't even notice when I'm here."

"I notice," Bates declared as he stood up from the table and carefully limped around to where she was seated. His hands began to massage her shoulders as he leaned heavily on his good leg to take some pressure off his bad one. "Maybe I should show you how much I notice."

She groaned slightly as he continued his ministrations to her muscles, his fingers sliding along the crisp material of her dress. But he could not remain standing for long, and concerned that the effects of the alcohol might wear off and bring him back to his pain, Bates suggested that they retire early to bed.

* * *

To Bates, their encounter in the bedroom was not quite up to their usual standards, for which he blamed the pain in his leg, which was barely held at by by the alcohol. But he enjoy it tremendously, not just the pleasure he received but the ability to give equal measures of bliss to his wife.

For her part, Anna appreciated the closeness of him, the intimacy, and that at least for a time, the combination of intoxication and gratification took her husband's mind away from his leg. Of course, the whiskey left him less coordinated than usual and he had trouble moderating his movements. He would grasp her neck to pull her to him for a kiss, but the force of his grip proved uncomfortable and even slightly painful. His fingers sometimes pressed into her skin too hard, not quite leaving bruises, even as he told her in a slurred voice how lovely she looked and how much he loved her. When they moved together, he had no rhythm, and his frustration grew.

Anna finally took charge, saying his name several times to get his attention before urging him on, keeping her eyes remaining locked with his. Their night was not the beautiful, soul-filling thing it had been in the past, but she knew he appreciated the pleasure they were able to share.

"At least I can still give you that," he noted a short time later, falling asleep curled up with her, as much from the whiskey as from their exertions.

Some time in the night, Bates woke up with the pain invading his senses. He took one of the sedatives Dr. Clarkson had prescribed and slept through the next morning. Upon waking, he remembered more clearly their night together. In the sober light of morning, with the throbbing of his knee forcing him to focus through the fog caused by the sedative, Bates could see Anna's expression as he'd touched her - not disgust, really, but some discomfort. He realized that at times he must have pawed at her like an unbalanced, enthusiastic puppy, so desperate to please her in his drunken state that he hadn't even noticed how awkward things truly were.

That evening, when she returned home from Downton, he told her, "I'm sorry for how it was last night."

"It was fine-" Anna began, but he cut her off.

"No, it wasn't. And it won't happen like that between us again, I promise."

Anna shook her head at him in mild rebuke. "Well, even if it was not the best... executed... night we've ever had together," she said, pausing to find the best word, "I did enjoy it. And I know you did as well. I think perhaps sometimes, it is more important to have intimacy than passion."

She spoke so gently with her face so full of love that he almost believed her.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and PMs on this story. Your feedback is immeasurable. With this sort of story, there's a lot of "it's going to get worse before it gets better," but I want everyone who has been trusting me to know that I will carry out the "it gets better" part. Just not today.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

* * *

As his drinking grew more and more out of control, Anna's worry increased. She could not confide in anyone at Downton about his renewed habit for fear they would blame him. And he wasn't to blame, not with his knee causing him so much pain. If the whiskey made things even a little better for him, who was she to deny him? He was not violent, as his mother had told her all those years ago. He never struck her or touched her in anger. But he did display his sharp tongue, often speaking to her bluntly or on the verge of insult.

And at night, Bates took the sedatives that Dr. Clarkson had prescribed to help him sleep. He slept so soundly that she sometimes stayed awake for hours, listening to his slow breaths. Sometimes he would pause for a moment, too long of a moment, and her heart would clench in fear until he began breathing once more.

Anna knew that things could not continue in this manner, and on one night, the situation came to a head as Anna returned home late in the evening from Downton. Lady Mary had been up for a quite a while working estate business and had put off undressing until she remembered Anna was waiting for her to ring. By the time Anna returned to the cottage, it was nearing midnight.

The door had barely closed behind her when John called out in irritation, "Where have you been?"

He stood in the kitchen doorway, swaying dangerously despite leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, and he slurred his words a great deal. A glance into the kitchen showed that he'd finished not just the half-full whiskey bottle she'd left for him but the one she'd thought was hidden in the back of the cupboard.

She'd never seen him so drunk.

"Lady Mary went to bed late. I had to stay to undress her," Anna explained, somewhat irritated at having to tell him what he should already know.

He glared at her, as though disbelieving. "Where you were with another man?"

The suggestion flabbergasted her. John had demonstrated jealousy on occasion, but he'd never accused her of unfaithfulness. Anna never gave him reason to doubt.

"I was not," she stated, genuinely angry at the unfair insinuation.

Turning his back on her, John limped over to his usual place on the couch and propped his leg up in front of him on a stool.

"Don't know if I believe you," he muttered darkly, his words slurring. "Why wouldn't you want someone else, someone better?"

"Because you are the man I love," Anna responded simply, losing patience.

He closed his eyes tightly, as though he wanted to shield himself from her words, as though they caused him pain equal to that in his leg.

"...picked a bad man to love." He exhaled slowly, as though the statement were something he'd been pondering for a while.

Anna watched him, growing more and more concerned by his level of intoxication. He spoke to her sharply before, but never this roughly.

"We can't control the people we love," she pointed out.

He nodded his head for a moment before answering, "You're right. We can't. Bad luck, that, for you."

Anna realized then that this night would be another full of his self recriminations and doubt. The past weeks - had it only been weeks? - had been ripe with such nights as he spoke darkly of both himself and their life together. But in truth, she could not call herself unlucky for having fallen in love with John. Despite his recent difficulties, she had not given up on him. Beneath the layers of drunkard and pained invalid, she could see her husband peeking back at her, waiting to return to the life they'd once had.

"Wouldn't blame you, if you found someone else," John said quietly, his voice as unsteady as the hand holding an empty glass.

Looking from his bloodshot, watery eyes to that glass and back again, Anna said steadily, "I don't want anyone else. I want my husband. I want the man I married."

He gave a dry chuckle. The noise grated at her. "I'm not the man you married."

Sadly, she looked at him. The drunkenness all but encompassed everything at this moment, even his pain and their life together. She could not even begin to compete.

She observed softly, to herself, "I'm beginning to see that."

Most nights, she would help him up the stairs to sleep in their bed, despite his inebriated state. But on this night, Anna had endured enough. After a long day at work, she returned home to find him beyond mildly intoxicated. And he had alternately called into question her faithfulness and her reasons for the same.

"I'm going to bed," Anna told him tiredly, not bothering to hide her ire. "You can sleep down here tonight."

And with that, she left him in their sitting room to stew in his intoxication.

* * *

Some hours passed with Bates having little notion of much beyond his own thoughts. The sedative he'd taken in preparation for bed was beginning to work its magic, and Bates found his way up the stairs on his own. Why his wife had not seen fit to assist him, he had no idea, but that was clearly her prerogative. He vaguely recalled an invitation to sleep downstairs, but their tiny couch was his daytime habitat and he preferred the change of location. Besides, Anna was upstairs, and his preference was always to be near her.

He almost tripped as he made his way up but narrowly avoided disaster. The unbearable pain drifted at the back of his mind, held at bay by the fuzziness of his head. Too bad he'd drunk all the whiskey, he thought idly. Anna would have to go to the village to buy more, he decided. He focused his eyes on the blank wall of the stairwell to keep the world from spinning, and he simultaneously wondered if the wall had always been that particular shade of white or if it only looked that way after dark. Somehow, he felt even more dissociated from the reality of his pain on this night than on others, and he did not think to link the strange feeling with the sedative he'd taken.

The bed seemed so warm and inviting as he approached, a safe haven from his continuing agony and the confusion brought on by the alcohol. And Anna was there, asleep in her night gown on her side of the bed. Though faced away from him, he could make out the gold of her hair. Having little energy, Bates did not bother to bath or change but only stripped to his underclothes before crawling in next to her.

God, Anna. She was so beautiful. She made everything better. Sometimes, his entire world felt reduced to waiting until the next time he could see her.

He so wanted to do something for her, to make her life easier. To show her how much she meant to him and how much he appreciated her. Reaching out a hand to touch her hair, he marveled at how soft it felt under his fingers. He leaned forward to get a whiff of her scent.

Anna stirred beside him. "John?" she asked.

"I love you," he tried to say, although the words came out slurred even to his ears. Nevermind. She would understand. Anna always understood him. She loved him. She would forgive the state he was in.

"John, I asked you to sleep downstairs."

Her statement did not penetrate his brain. He could not make out the meaning so he set it aside even as he marveled at her lovely voice. Her accent could never be replicated, even in his memory. And listening to her in anger was a novelty as she so rarely displayed such negative emotions, not to him.

Anna had turned toward him in the bed, and the sight of his wife's face and form hit him full force. She seemed not only angry but furious, and the strong emotion only made her more beautiful. An urgency entered his mind – he needed to be with this woman and make things better for her. He needed to smooth the irritation from her brow and replace it with the sated look of lazy comfort he much preferred.

But when Bates reached for her, she shrugged him away. He did not hear her say, "Not tonight," or even, "I don't want to." All he could focus on was helping her off with her nightgown so he could lay eyes on her body and begin making her feel good. His crippled leg had taken away a number of things from their marriage, but at least he could still do this.

Bates lost track of himself for a time, his mind spinning under the weight of the liquor combined with the sedative. Bates felt like he'd entered an odd dream full of unidentifiable sounds and colors. His heart beat wildly, almost painfully, and his body broke into a cold sweat.

When his vision refocused, he gradually noticed his position, as though his mind took an extra long time to process what was happening. Bates found himself on top of his wife, and her nightgown was bunched up just below her waist. He held one of her wrists in each of his hands pinned on either side of her body as he leaned down to try and kiss her lips.

But rather than staring at him lovingly, as he was so used to, her face was twisted away from him. Her profile showed that her eyes were clamped shut, her face a mask of fear and disgust.

And with sudden horror, he saw wetness on her cheek. Tears.

She was crying.

The importance of this detail, so foreign to their bed, finally managed to penetrate his alcohol and drug-saturated brain. She did not want him touching her. She did not want him. He was _hurting _her.

"Oh, God, Anna..."

He let go of her instantly, the sight sobering him enough to focus on something other than himself. With more force than was necessary, he pushed himself off of her. But having misjudged their placement on the bed, he ended up rolling off the side onto the wood floor. He landed on his side, his head narrowly missing the nightstand. Weakly, every part of his body began reporting in to his brain about pain and potential damage. But Bates ignored everything as he levered himself up. His knee screamed in protest but he could not bring himself to care.

He still wore his undergarments, he realized with relief, and he was in no state to even attempt intimacy. But as he pulled himself up to look at his wife, grabbing tightly at the edge of the bed, she was already readjusting her clothes and pulling the covers back up around her, steadfastly refusing to look in his direction. He thought he heard her crying softly.

"Anna..." he whispered.

What had he done? His intoxicated mind fought to understand and appreciate the situation. He knew he'd just committed an unforgivable sin, something that would forever change how Anna saw him. But God, he was so drunk, and he could not process everything.

As he struggled to understand how his reality could suddenly change so quickly, a wave of nausea and fatigue hit him. His heart still beat wildly out of control, his breath coming in irregular gasps as he struggled against the tug of unconsciousness. Combined with the screaming pain in his leg and the whiskey in his body, he could not fight it. Bates slumped to the ground, his back against the bed. Unable to stay upright, he tilted over and ended up on his side on the bare floor. He passed out there, visions of Anna's tearful face haunting his last clouded thoughts.

* * *

At first, Anna left him on the floor. Part of her wanted to take pity on him, but another more selfish and angry part of her had trouble caring about his suffering at the moment.

He hadn't hurt her, she had to remind herself, not really. And Anna knew he never intended to scare her. But another voice in her head kept whispering, he'd almost done it. Likely without even knowing what he was doing in his alcohol-induced state, he'd almost... She shook her head, barely able to think it.

John had spoken truthfully – the drink made him a different man. Anna knew her husband, the man she loved, was still buried in there somewhere. But he lay beneath layers of pain and intoxication. Perhaps the real John Bates would never emerge again.

As her anger cooled, Anna felt compelled to get out of bed to check on him. His breathing was uneven, but John did not seem to be in distress. She gently put a pillow from the bed under his head, taking care when she was finished to smooth the hair from his damp brow. He felt warm but not feverish, she decided. John moaned slightly in his sleep at the touch of her hand, but she did not linger. Finally, she pulled the quilt off the bed and draped it over his body.

After an uncomfortable night of almost sleep as she listened to his labored breathing on the floor beside their bed, Anna finally got dressed for work in the bathroom. With the door tightly locked behind her, Anna examined herself more fully. The bruises on her wrists would be covered by the sleeves of her dress, but she needed to be certain they did not slip up too far lest anyone see the injuries. The finger-shaped marks on her waist would be easy to hide.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Anna checked on John again. His breathing had evened into a more natural rhythm, but he still slept like the dead. She knew he would be in pain when he finally awoke, but she could not wait for him. She had to work, to support both of them. Frowning at him, she wished she could summon the energy to remain as furious as she'd been the night before. But looking down into his sleeping face, finally relaxed with unconsciousness, perhaps for the first time, Anna felt real pity for the man she loved more than anything in the world.

Oh, how she loved this man, Anna thought despairingly. She knew he'd had no intention of hurting her. And she'd been partially to blame in leaving that second bottle of whiskey where he could easily find it. If he remembered nothing from the night before, as she suspected was the case, she would not torture him with enlightenment.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I appreciate the reviews and continuing interest in this story. This chapter is light on dialogue, which I usually try to avoid, but for purposes of storytelling was necessary. Drop me a review and let me know what you think.

* * *

Agony, bright and brilliant, split the world apart. The headache hurt worse than any Bates could remember in all his years. A whiskey hangover combined with the groggy after effects of the sedative, the excruciating throbbing of his skull almost blotted out the screaming pain in his knee, which along with his back was stiff from sleeping on the hard floor.

Why was he on the floor?

Nausea assaulted him the moment he cracking his eyes open. Pushing it aside, Bates rolled onto his back and blinked blearily into the light of day streaming through the window. Reality required long minutes to take hold, threading through his understanding slowly and sharply like a needle through coarse wool. After a time, he realized that he had a quilt covering him and a pillow under his head. Anna, he decided without further thought. His wife had taken pity on him and given him the items of comfort.

But why was he on the floor? Had he fallen from the bed and she'd been unable to wake him?

The prior night came back to him only in slow, painful fragments. He remembered sitting downstairs and drinking. He vaguely remembered missing his wife and speculating as to her absence so late at night.

_A bad man to love._

Had he really said that to her? God, he had drunk far too much. And he could not even remember taking the pill to help him sleep, but his grogginess proved a testament to the poor decision. Clarkson had warned him about mixing the alcohol with the potent drug.

Overtaken by exhaustion, Bates fell back asleep for a time, or as asleep as the pain would allow him. But as his mind fluttered at the edge of consciousness, the memories of the previous night played like a movie reel in his head, something he watched on a screen rather than something he experienced or remembered.

Every moment he recalled was like a puzzle piece which added to the burden of guilt accumulating in the back of his mind, and a bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, making it impossible to find any rest on the uncomfortable floor.

_I'm not the man you married._

Bates recalled Anna's face at that statement - irritated at him for being so drunk, for making some sort of accusations. What did he possibly have to accuse her of besides utter love and undeserved devotion? She'd gone to bed angry and told him to sleep downstairs, he recalled, even though he could not recall any other part of that encounter. And if he slept down stairs, how had he ended up on the floor of their bedroom?

And suddenly Bates recalled an image, fuzzy in his memory but striking in its detail. Anna lay under him, her wrists held tightly in his hands. Tears marred her face as she looked away from him.

The world twisted and spun around him in such agony as he had never known. Had he not already been laying down, Bates would have swooned and fallen to the ground. Ice water replaced the blood in his veins even as his neck flashed with unexpected heat, causing his vision to swim.

What had he done? What had he done?

Turning to the side, Bates emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor in an excruciating, horrific rush. The indignity of his condition was lost amid the pain and sickness of both body and soul. He stayed on the floor like that for a long time, contemplating the terrible state of sickness he felt, which only augmented the agony of his knee. And on top of everything else, he struggled to remember more of what had occurred the night before.

Had he hurt her? Had he... had he... _touched _her?

His knee throbbed painfully, but Bates welcomed the sudden agony. It cut through the haziness of his mind and allowed him to momentarily focus. Bates clung to the blurry image of Anna beneath him, trying to follow it back to a clearer memory.

A long, life-shattered moment later, it clicked into place.

Bates recalled his horror at seeing his hands holding her down, of the tears running down her cheek. He pulled away from her, he remembered, on realizing that he was hurting her, frightening her. And he fell off the bed somehow into an undignified heap on the floor. As he rubbed the unseen bruise on his hip where the wood floor had made sudden and abrupt contact, Bates sighed with relief that it had gone no further.

For one long minute, all he could think was that he'd actually done it - that he'd forced her. He could contemplate only one option if that had been the case. A single punishment befit such a heinous crime, and he would serve as his own judge, jury and executioner if it came to that. But he sighed with relief at realizing he hadn't harmed Anna. At least, not like that.

But even so, what he'd done was unforgivable, even in the midst of drunkenness. _Especially _in the midst of drunkenness. Anna would never forgive him - how could she?

And yet, he thought the pillow and blanket on the ground where he'd slept. She'd taken care of him. She'd made him comfortable, despite what he'd done to her. Sometime in the night, Anna had taken his head and lifted it onto that pillow. She'd taken the quilt off the bed and draped it over his prone form. He could almost imagine her delicate, gentle hands.

He became ill once more, this time as much a function of his roiling stomach as his guilt. His own disgust fueled him to force himself off the ground. The act required four attempts with substantial rests in between and in the end, he had to lean so heavily on the bed to get off the floor that he messed the tidy sheets Anna had obviously made before leaving. Swaying as he sat on the edge of the mattress, Bates absently glanced at the clock: mid-morning. Anna was already up at Downton working, he noted, somewhat relieved he would not need to see her yet.

Anna... His beautiful, sweet, kind-hearted wife... He'd gone beyond vicious, drunken words to actually physically laying his hands on her and... Trying to take a breath, Bates found his throat closing up suddenly, and he struggled to take in oxygen. The realization of what he'd done, of what it meant, surrounded his neck like a noose, tightening faster and faster.

He could not stay at the cottage. Anna would be home in several hours, and he could not face her. The pain and accusation in her eyes would be his end. Not that he didn't deserve to endure whatever wrath she wished to inflict on him. But Bates suspected that she would not throw him out of their home, as he believed she should. She would not reject him or rage at him the way he deserved.

Instead, she would quietly forgive him, internalizing what he'd done to her, and their life would go back to what it had become.

Until he hurt her again.

He'd seen it with his mother and father. The rotten apple did not fall far from the poisonous tree, he thought grimly. Whereas before Bates thought he'd only followed in his father's footsteps as a drunkard, he'd now proven himself to be every bit the worthless man that had his pa had been.

Anna deserved better.

Unfortunately, deciding to leave and leaving were two different propositions. While painful, the former was easily arrived upon as Bates could not bear the thought of a repeat of what had occurred in that very bed the night before. However, the latter part of his resolution required a great deal of action to carry out and in the past few hours, he had so far succeeded in only making it off the floor.

Locating his cane by the bed, Bates managed to compel his large, unwieldy frame across the room to their bathroom. His knee felt like it had been replaced by molten metal which burned from the inside. His head felt twice its normal size and kept the room spinning uncomfortably.

After relieving himself, he mixed a powder in a glass of water and took slow, careful sips of the bitter liquid. He managed to get it all down before his stomach rebelled, causing him to get sick once more. But after rinsing out his mouth, he dutifully repeated the process again, and the second time he managed to keep it down. The powder would barely touch the ache in his head, but he needed whatever relief he could find.

Splashing water on his face in lieu of a true bath, he decided to forgo a shave lest his unsteady hands do more damage than intended. Instead he did his best to clean up the mess he'd left on the floor. But bending proved problematic and getting down on the floor would have guaranteed he'd never get up again. Bates did what he could and burning with shame, left the remainder for Anna to address.

As his exhausted grogginess eased from a blinding fog into a dull sense of tired confusion, the pain in Bates' leg intensified, oustripping the pounding inside his skull. He packed a bag, taking very little with him. All he needed was a few changes of clothes, really, and a little money. Pulling out the pounds Anna kept in a jar in a bottom drawer for emergencies, Bates hesitated. He felt like a thief, taking this money. It no longer belonged to him, just like Anna was no longer his.

He paused at the thought of Anna. The more he remembered fragments of the previous night's incident, not to mention his horrible behavior in the past weeks, he wondered if she wouldn't be genuinely relieved to see him gone. She could divorce him, he thought idly, and he would not fight against it. He'd lost all rights to his wife or her love the moment he'd threatened her harm. Even if she did not despise him as she should, he could not stay with her. Doing so would only endanger her, and he'd sooner end his own life than risk hurting her again.

Perhaps it would be easier if he were dead. Life as a widow, even to a man as worthless as he, would be preferable to that of a divorcee. But Bates knew he could not kill himself. Such an act would devastate Anna and force her to pay the price for his sins while letting him off too easily.

Leaving most of the money for Anna, Bates took only a handful of bills. He dressed in his brown suit, the one he'd worn to their wedding, finding it neatly pressed and ready for him in the closet. He had trouble changing, his lack of balance and exhaustion inhibiting most coordinated movement. But after expending much energy, he managed it without falling again.

He took the suitcase downstairs, leaning heavily on his cane as the pain in his knee threatened to overtake him. Close to the bottom, he lost his balance and slipped, landing heavily on his arse. The fall hurt, but Bates was grateful it had not damaged his leg, which still throbbed with ever-present pain. But he ignored the agony as readily as he did the empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the kitchen counter, a twin to the other empty one on the table of the sitting room. Anna had obviously not bothered to clear them away, nor had she replaced them with a fresh bottle, if she even had another in the house. He sighed at the sight of those bottles, at what they represented - the shattered remains of his life - and he took the extra time to put them in the trash. He had asked enough of Anna already.

Before leaving, Bates took out a pen and paper and sat at the kitchen table to write a note to his wife. He had thought for a long time about what to say, trying to sort the words out in his muddled brain, but in the end, only a few lines were necessary. She would understand his reasons. She would likely even welcome his absence considering what she'd been putting up with from him over the past weeks, never mind what he'd done the night before.

He left the note on their table, placing a book of poetry on top of it so that a stray draft would not blow it away. The book was Anna's favorite - he'd bought it for her as a birthday gift and she used to ask him to read her passages in the evenings. He could not remember the last time he'd read to her or even the last time she'd asked.

Taking his hat from the stand by the door, he left the cottage for the first time in days, pulling the door shut and locking it behind him. His cane shaking in his hand as he put too much weight on the wooden stick, he began to take slow, agonizing steps towards the village. He would not have made it far had a passing farmer not offered him a lift to town on the back of a truck.

* * *

Anna worked hard to complete her work early so she could run down to the cottage to check on her husband, but at every turn fate conspired against her. In addition to looking after Lady Mary, she had to help dress Lady Grantham because her lady's maid was in bed sick. When Mrs. Hughes fall victim to the same illness, she was forced to delegate many of her usual duties to Anna, who ran herself ragged trying to stay on top of things.

In truth, Anna welcomed the activity as it helped her keep her mind off her husband. When she was not worrying about having left him on the floor of their bedroom, she wondered what state he would be in when she returned home. The previous day, he'd found and drunk the bottle of whiskey she'd intended to leave him for this day, so he'd be on his own with the pain.

Anna wondered if it wouldn't be better to just stop bringing him alcohol altogether. She doubted he could make it all the way into the village to buy it himself, at least, not without a strong incentive. But part of her worried that he might attempt the trek despite the terrible pain in his leg. She did not want him falling in a ditch along the way where he might lay undiscovered for hours. And even though she hated to admit it, she could not stand to watch him in pain. The sight of her husband, so strong and poised, in the grips of utter agony tore her apart from the inside out.

But at the same time, things could not continue as they had been. The prior night had enforced that on Anna with painful clarity. Absently, she rubbed at her sore wrists, the bruises remaining hidden beneath the cuffs of her dress.

Her husband could not keep living with the pain. Even if he gave up alcohol and used only morphine to try to control it, she doubted things would improve. John Bates was not a man to be confined to his home all day without occupation. He needed another option. He needed to see a special doctor in London who might be able to help him. And if one doctor could not help, they'd see another, and another, until they found someone who could do something. The cost did not matter to her.

Anna resolved herself to confront him about the issue when she returned home. If John remembered anything of his behavior from the previous night, his contrition would likely be strong enough to ensure his agreement, at least initially. And if he had no memory, she would tell him only enough to beg his compliance.

When Anna returned to the cottage later that evening, she found the house locked and dark. Lighting the lamp downstairs, she did not find John in his usual spot on their couch in the sitting room. With a horrible feeling of dread settling into her stomach, she rushed up the stairs to their bedroom. Once she lit a lamp there, she found only the discarded pillow and quilt on the floor. Her husband had been there - she could see he'd been sick and inartfully attempted to clean the mess - but he was no where to be found in their cottage.

Back downstairs, she searched for some clue as to where he'd gone. The empty whiskey bottles were cleared away. And after a moment, she spied a piece of paper on the table under her favorite book. Picking up the volume of poetry, she saw that it kept in place a short note from her husband. Her heart broke as she read his words.

_Dearest Anna,_

_I'm so sorry for what I've done. I'm sorry for everything. We both know I cannot be here with you any longer. I have repaid your love and undeserved tenderness with violence. My actions have broken our marriage, and I must leave you now or risk hurting you again, or hurting you worse._

_Please know that I treasure you above all else in this life, and I hope you can find happiness with me gone. _

_My eternal love,_

_John_

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know - sad story is sad. But I appreciate those of you who've let me know you're enjoying it anyway. This was a particularly difficult chapter to write and I hope it demonstrates Bates' mindset and motivations. As always, I love reviews and feedback so please let me know what you think.**

* * *

Once he reached the village, Bates managed to hobble into the Grantham Arms before his knee began to truly give out. Part of him knew that he should board the next train for London immediately, before Anna discovered him missing and came looking. But the more logical side of his brain insisted that he needed food and rest. He still felt sick and unbalanced, and he did not want to fall ill on the train.

However, he did not consider the danger of entering the pub until he'd already taken a seat inside. The familiar sounds of glasses clinging and low voices swept over and surrounded him. He remembered having the same feelings when he worked at the pub in Kirbymooreside - a subtle draw to the beers and stronger spirits being enjoyed along with hearty meals. There were not many people in the pub, but a few, and they glanced at him with curious expressions.

"What can I get you?" one of the employees asked for his order.

He stared at her for a moment, attempting to comprehend what she'd asked. His head was still pained and the vestiges of the sedative left him slow and uncertain. "What?"

Rephrasing her question, she spoke slowly and with some irritation, "What do you want to order?"

Her words finally registered in his mind and he asked, "Soup?" His tortured insides still threatened rebellion and he had to think realistically about what he might be able to keep down.

"We have a vegetable beef stew."

Bates nodded. "That's fine. And tea."

The woman - a plump blonde who reminded him of a younger Mrs. Patmore - raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Nothing else to drink besides tea?"

He looked over her shoulder wistfully at the pub's bar.

While the horrendous pain in his head had begun to lessen slightly, his knee still felt like it were on fire. His hands were beginning to shake and he could feel the beginning of a cold sweat. Bates really needed just a tipple of whiskey to dull the pain and calm his nerves...

As though his mind had unconsciously conjured her, Anna's image appeared before him. He saw her as he'd first known her - smiling at him openly with her hair pulled back and adored with a white maid's cap. He tried to ignore the thought of her, even as the image changed to one of her sitting across from him in prison, looking smart with a firmly pinned wool hat hiding her hair as surely as the leather gloves adorning her small hands. As he was reminded of how much she'd endured for his sake, he sighed in resignation.

No, he couldn't drink, Bates knew. Never again.

"Just tea," he responded, the server went away.

He felt better after eating the stew and having a few cups of tea, although not a lot better. With the whiskey and sedative finally beginning to wear off, he was beginning to feel not just the effects of over indulgence and the ever-present pain in his knee, but also the lack of the alcohol in his blood. At the moment, it was a growing urge to drink, but it would get worse. Quitting the bottle the first time was difficult, not just the willpower needed to abstain, but also the physical pains the body went through as it cleansed itself of the familiar poison. Bates had begun the process several times, each time ending in failure, before being sent to prison for Vera's theft. He'd even considering going to a special home created to reform drunkards like himself, but Vera would hear none of that. Ultimately, imprisonment had been necessary to keep him from returning to the bottle.

He looked again at the bar with the young man standing behind it pouring drinks for other patrons. He remembered standing just like that, day after day, performing the same tasks in Kirbymooreside. How far he had fallen.

A moment later, the bartender noticed Bates attention and came around to his table. "Something I can get you, mister?" he asked.

The temptation proved too much. He was not strong enough.

"A whiskey, please," he answered gruffly, casting his eyes down to the table in shame.

"Coming right up."

The young man returned with the drink quickly and set it on the table within easy reach of Bates. His hand went out to it automatically, and he sighed in relief at the feel of the familiar coldness of the glass and the slosh of the liquid within. He stared at it long and hard before bringing it to his face and taking a long sniff.

The smell of the alcohol brought back the memory of Anna's face from the night before, twisted in fear and pain as he clasped her wrists too tightly. Vaguely, he could hear her voice appealing to him, saying words he could not understand but now knew were pleas to stop. His head spun as the scent of the whiskey brought so much of that night roaring back to him. He'd hurt Anna. While in the grips of drunkenness, he'd hurt her. Nothing beyond that seemed to matter - not the pain or the sickness in his gut or even the siren's call of the liquor in that glass.

He put the whiskey back down on the table, so forcefully that a bit of the liquid spilled onto the wooden surface. He pushed it away as far as he could and leaned back in his chair, out of reach of the glass. And for several long moments, he just stared at the drink like an old nemesis.

A short time later, a figure stepped into his field of vision on the other side of the table. Bates' eyes traveled from the glass up the well-tailored grey suit of another man until he saw his face. Bates attempted to stand, but his knee seized up and the other man quickly waved him down.

Lord Grantham looked Bates up and down with a stern expression before turning his gaze to the whiskey. He took in the glass and its distance from the seated man, and he casually moved it further away.

"I expect that there is something you ought to tell me," he said to Bates.

* * *

Sometimes, being an Earl had its perks. One such favor was securing a temporary room for Bates at the Grantham Arms with no questions asked. The man looked like death warmed over and did not smell much better. Unshaved with barely combed hair, he could hardly walk, even leaning on the cane, and his dull, glazed eyes betrayed his recent dependence on the bottle.

"I'm fine, milord," he insisted as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Robert had taken a seat on the one chair in the room and folded his arms over his chest as he regarded the other man. "You are not fine," he responded.

"You're right," Bates allowed, "But there is nothing you can do."

"At least tell me what you're doing here. Did you and Anna have a falling out?"

The other man seemed ill, as though he were struggling just to keep upright and awake. His knee obviously pained him.

"I'd prefer not to go into it, milord," Bates managed, struggling to sound civil. "But how did you know I was here?"

"You didn't exactly make it difficult," Robert pointed out. He'd left Downton immediately upon getting a phone call from the village about someone seeing Bates disheveled and limping painfully into the Grantham Arms. There was some concern about an 'incident' and now Robert understood why.

The Earl watched him for a moment, taking in his shaking, sweating form and the pained expression Bates could not suppress. A raised eyebrow indicated his understanding of what caused such a physical condition. A wave of renewed shame swept over Bates' features as he nodded in acceptance of the other man's knowledge. Robert had only found out about the drinking a few days earlier from from Carson, who he supposed probably got it from Mrs. Hughes. Anna had not said a word on the matter, probably out of consideration of her husband's privacy, although Robert regretted the maid's silence on this score.

Robert sighed. "I wish you'd told me it had gotten this bad, Bates."

"I didn't want to concern you," he responded, pausing briefly as he looked ill.

Shaking his head, the Earl said, "But it is my concern. Your injury..."

He sighed and did not continue. They both knew he spoke of Africa. Bates shook his head, obviously having no wish at the moment to revisit discussion of the Boer War. "We settled that long ago. I only did my duty, no more."

The injured man seemed suddenly troubled, almost like a dog who could hear something her owners could not detect. Robert wondered if Bates still heard the sounds of battle sometimes the way he did in his dreams. But a moment later, Bates relaxed again and focused his attention back on the Earl.

"And no less," Robert added. "We both know I owe you a great deal."

Bates pointed out, "Considering all you have done for me, I'd say anything you may have owed me has been paid back with interest."

For all Robert had done for the man - given him a job, displayed his trust in him, supported him during the murder trial - Bates had also served him well. He'd fallen on his sword for the Crawley family, saving them from scandal with that dreadful Turkish diplomat story, all while Robert had berated him like a deserter. And he'd gone away, separating himself from Anna for months and months...

"What of Anna?" he asked suddenly. "I assume you haven't told her where you're going."

Bates shook his head.

"Has something happened between you?"

Sighing, Bates answered, "I can't speak of it, milord."

"It can't be as terrible as all that."

But the injured man looked as though he were about to be sick. Robert could even detect a hint of moisture gathering in the man's eyes. Something very bad must have occurred between them.

"Bates, what happened?" he pressed.

His concern grew at the other man's hesitation.

Finally, the injured man confessed, "I hurt her."

Dumbfounded, Robert only stared at him. He'd seen the maid at Downton earlier in the day in the hall leaving Mary's room, and she'd looked well enough. But he could see in Bates' face such pain as to pale in comparison to the physical agony of his injured leg. Whatever had occurred between Bates and his wife, the injured man hated himself for it.

Robert suggested, "Maybe it seemed worse than it was. You were likely... not yourself."

"Drunk," Bates corrected him bluntly. "I was drunk. But I know I hurt her." He swallowed back painful emotions. "I must have left bruises."

His self loathing was so clear, it was almost a physical thing wrapped around him. Robert noticed his hands shaking. They'd been unsteady since he'd arrived at the pub, but the quaking had only increased. Unable to fathom Bates laying a hand on Anna, even in the midst of intoxication, the Earl stated, "You're as loyal a man as I've ever known, Bates. And I want to help you in any way I can."

Bates blinked rapidly against a sudden wave of tears. He succeeded in holding back the tide, but one made its way through to spill down his cheek in a lone stream.

"Just take care of her while I'm gone," he requested. "She'll try to find me, but..."

Robert understood his need to deal with his issues on his own. He assured the man, "Of course we'll look after Anna. But where will you go?"

Bates said quietly, "I know of a place in London which may take me, an inebriate home."

"An asylum?" Robert said, surprised. He wondered how the disabled man knew about the place and decided that he must have learned of it when he tried to kick the bottle years before.

"It's more of a strict boarding house," Bates answered, grimacing from the pain in his knee before adding thoughtfully, "with a heavy emphasis on sobriety."

"And you'll be able to... recover at this place?"

Nodding, Bates answered, "With any luck, that part at least. But more importantly, I'll be far away from Anna."

Both a blessing and a curse.

Robert observed, "I expect that she'll worry a great deal, not knowing where you are."

"It's better that she doesn't know. I know Anna wants to help me, but this is something I have to do for myself." He paused, taking a deep breath. Robert could almost see the need for alcohol written on his features. "Not just myself, for her. I have to prove myself again..."

He paused as he spoke but did not finish the thought. Bates said, "If she wants a divorce, I'll make sure she can serve me the papers through my solicitor."

Robert did not approve of divorce, even under such difficult circumstances as witnessed here. But he had to agree with Bates that he could not blame Anna if she pressed for it, especially if he had hurt her as he claimed. But Robert had known the maid since she was a teenager, had observed her love for this man through his murder trial and beyond. He had no fear that she would divorce him.

The awkward moment between them stretched until Robert asked, "Will you see a doctor in London?"

Looking much like a schoolboy scolded by the headmaster, the former valet inclined his head in defeated acquiescence.

"I want to help," the Earl stated firmly. "I'll pay for any surgery or procedure you might need."

Bates shook his head. "I can't ask that of you, milord."

Frowning, Robert said, "I wish you'd reconsider leaving."

"I have to do this milord," Bates said strongly. "But thank you for all you've done for me."

* * *

Some hours later, long after night had fallen, Robert accompanied him to the station, getting a clear view of how painful each step was for Bates. But the injured man refused to reach out to the Earl for assistance even as he stumbled on the road, barely catching himself before falling. The second time his bad leg threatened to trip him up, Robert put a steady hand under his arm, releasing him a moment later when he managed to steady himself. Forcing down an expression of embarrassment, Bates nodded a grateful thanks.

After insisting on buying the other man's ticket on the evening train to London, Robert waited as Bates boarded and took a seat in third class, moving with agonizing slowness. They said no grand farewells, nor were such words needed. Within minutes, the train was rolling down the track. Robert watched it disappear from sight before turning to head back to the pub to locate his car and driver.

But as he turned around, he saw Anna rushing across the platform towards him. She looked frantic and was still wearing the black work dress he'd seen her in earlier. Robert wondered if she'd run all the way up from the cottage upon finding Bates gone. The hopeful light in her eyes saddened him, but he'd promised Bates. And he had to keep his word.

"I'm afraid we've just missed him," the Earl told her, not quite a lie. "I understand that he's headed for London."

The maid was near tears as her eyes looked in the direction of the departed train.

"I have to go after him," she said, taking a step towards the ticket counter.

"The next train isn't until the morning," Robert reminded her, and she stopped. Thankfully, everyone else had cleared the platform and only the two of them remained.

"I never should have left him this morning," Anna said regretfully, more to herself than to the Earl. "Last night... something happened, and I'm sure he was ill today. And what with his leg..."

"He was in bad shape, I think," Lord Grantham said, "But he'll make it through if he can keep away from... certain indulgences."

She nodded in understanding of his meaning for a second, she actually looked relieved that he knew about the drinking. Her eyes traveled the length of the track, as though she might follow it on foot to try and find her husband. With her body turned slightly away, Robert's eyes flicked downward and noticed a discoloration just under the cuff of her sleeve. On impulse, he reached out to brush the fabric back from her wrist. The finger-shaped ovals on her skin had darkened to an ugly purple. Anna looked up at him and met his gaze with guilt-filled eyes.

_ I know I hurt her. I must have left bruises._

"It wasn't his fault, milord," she observed quietly, fighting a losing battle with her tears as she pulled the sleeve back down to cover her wrist. "I brought him the whiskey."

The stark contrast between the maid's pale skin and those marks startled the Earl. He suddenly understood with utter clarity why Bates felt the need to leave his wife, for her own sake. And for the first time, he found himself doubting Bates, although Anna's staunch support of him spoke volumes. He resolved not to rush to judgment.

"Anna, you can't blame yourself..."

"Who else can I blame?" she asked rhetorically, wiping at the few tears which escaped her eyes. "I don't blame him. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him, with so much pain. And now he's gone. He is all alone without me or anyone else to help him."

"He probably didn't want to put you through any more," Robert told her knowingly. "He cares very much for you."

Anna shook her head. "Not enough for him to stay."

Thoughtfully, he suggested, "Maybe too much for him to stay. But certainly enough for him to come back when things are right."

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ****As always, I give thanks for my great reviewers. And I have to give another big thank you to John for help with historical research in this and other chapters. **

* * *

In her husband's absence, Anna noticed the season begin to change, with warm afternoons turning crisp and cool as leaves began to fall from the trees. Winter was on the way, and this year foretold a particularly difficult one.

For weeks, she barely existed. Anna moved on the periphery, doing her work with silent dignity, all the while showing few outward signs of her distress. But on the inside, she was dying, little by little. Her weight dropped to almost nothing. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and never seemed to leave her. She spoke to few people outside her work and confided in even fewer.

Every half day she received off, she traveled to London to look for her husband. In the evenings she wrote letters to anyone she could think of – to jails and hospitals throughout the city – in hopes of finding Mr. Bates. She sent letters addressed to him directly to his solicitor, each one begging him to return to her, telling him all was forgiven, that she just wanted him to come home.

Anna began by filling her letters to him with love and absolution, even though she felt he had nothing to seek penance for, not from her. He had not failed her, had not caused her permanent harm. But as time went by, her desperation grew and each letter reflected her need for him and her guilt as his absence. Anna promised him she'd do whatever was necessary for their life together to continue. She would be a better wife, more attentive and helpful. She would do anything he asked, if only he would come back to her. Her letters went unanswered.

She knew he had to be in London. Lord Grantham had told her that was his destination and only there could he be so lost in the bustle of the crowd that she could not find him through all her searching. She even went so far as to ask His Lordship to make inquiries on her behalf, but the Earl returned to her empty handed, his expression apologetic.

"I know what he's doing," Anna said, her voice strong despite the sting of emotion threatening to choke her. "He's trying to free me. Or give me grounds to divorce him."

His Lordship paused before saying very neutrally, "His solicitor did say that he would not fight it if you wished a divorce."

The very thought of ending their marriage left Anna cold and afraid, as she'd been when her husband was in prison. To lose him now after everything they'd been together... Shaking her head, Anna responded, "That's not what I want at all. I want him to come home."

Lord Grantham asked, "Anna, perhaps Bates needs to work through everything and come to some way of living with his injury first, before he can return."

Anna shook her head even harder, tears evident in her eyes. With unusual frankness, she said, "He left for me, because he thinks he is a burden or a danger. But that's not true."

"I know you care for him very much. But at some point, Anna, you must think of yourself."

The Earl gave her a kindly look and she was reminded that he had seen the bruises on her wrist that day at the train station. But she knew he and her husband were friends of a sort, their military service together bonding them in a way that was beyond just employer and servant. Perhaps His Lordship had even been able to locate Bates in London and had heard his side of the story as to what had happened. Considering how easily he was giving up on finding his former valet, Anna suspected he'd been in contact with him. But her position kept her from pushing the matter.

Instead, she made her final heartfelt plea. "I can't live without him, milord. Every day he is gone is a day gone from my life. I am nothing without him."

While her words clearly pained Lord Grantham and left him uncomfortable, he could give her no information and Anna remained in the dark as to her husband's location.

Lady Mary looked on her with just as much sympathy. Everyone seemed to know about the drinking now, the rumor making its usual rounds through Downton with inelegant efficiency. Thankfully, besides a few whispers behind raised hands, almost no one mentioned it to her.

"It sounds like he's trying to protect you, Anna," the other woman stated. "And perhaps Bates being away isn't a bad thing, at least until he is able to quit this terrible habit."

Anna wondered if anyone remembered what she and Mr. Bates had been through together - the years of longing followed by months of separation and misery, only to endure a failed attempt to divorce his first wife which ended with him convicted of murder and serving so many months of prison. Suddenly they thought she could put him out of her mind because in the grips of utter agony, he'd gone back to drinking?

"He's my husband, milady. He's out there in pain, trying to spare me. I _must_ find him."

Pausing momentarily, Lady Mary nodded in understanding. Both women knew that given a fraction of a chance to have Matthew back, the other woman would do anything necessary. But death was the most unforgiving separator of all. That fact kept Anna from getting very many good nights of rest as she wondered where her husband was.

Mrs. Hughes watched over the heartbroken lady's maid with a close eye. She pushed her to eat more and take more time for rest.

"It won't do for Mister Bates to come back and find you wasted away," she told Anna sternly.

"If he ever does come back," she lamented.

"He always has before," the housekeeper assured her.

With a sigh, Anna said, "I just wish I could talk to him for a few minutes, to make him understand."

Mrs. Hughes favored her with the kindly smile of a woman who'd lived in the world quite a few more years. "Maybe this is something Mister Bates has to do for himself."

Anna had heard the suggestion too many times to let it go.

"No, that's where you're wrong, all of you. He tried to handle it himself before and that's what made such a mess of things. He's tried so hard to spare me, but his life is no longer his own. I'm as much a part of this as he is."

"I'm sure he realizes that," the housekeeper sighed. "Perhaps that's why he decided to go away. And goodness knows how bad things might have gotten if he'd kept on as he did."

Anna had told no one about that one horrible night and only Lord Grantham seemed to have an inkling of the specifics, but Mrs. Hughes was far too perceptive. Anna knew her husband must have remembered some part of it to leave her so abruptly, to write the letter he had left, but she had no way of knowing what he recalled. Did he remember stopping himself? Did he know it had gone no further than a few bruises? Surely he wouldn't exile himself so cruelly over a few marks on her skin which had already faded?

But she knew in her heart he would. If he remembered any part of that night, fate assured that it was likely to be those few moments when he'd been at his worst. Anna had to admit to herself that he had scared her. And the pressure with which he'd held her down had hurt. But he'd been in no state to attempt intimacy, the whiskey and drugs robbing him of that as surely as they did his composure and self-control.

She swallowed back her tears as she returned to her work. Anna had another half day coming up soon, and she'd be able to continue her search.

* * *

The first few days at Dalrymple House proved difficult and messy for Bates, but he got through them, with help. His body seemed to rebel against him and everything he took in, even water, came back up. Then came the shakes, as violent and uncontrollable as he remembered. And bed-bound as the illness took hold of him, Bates counted himself glad that Anna was not there to witness his mortification.

He must have called out her name because he heard a nurse ask, "Who is Anna?"

Too tired and sick to respond, Bates closed his eyes and imagined her shining face from the day they were wed in the Ripon registrar's office. Had she ever looked more beautiful than in that moment?

"His wife, I think," one of the doctors answered for him.

The days passed slowly in a haze of exhaustion, pain, and desperate need for whiskey. But slowly, day by day, he showed incremental improvements. He was confined to a wheelchair at first, unable to move under his own power. But once he'd regained his strength, Bates petitioned strongly for the return of his cane. Unfortunately, his attempt to walk with only the cane resulted in such utter failure that he fell into renewed despair. As a compromise, he was allowed the use of crutches to get around, and that extra bit of liberty was enough to lift his spirits.

As the weeks went by, the doctors thought he did well considering his knee, and one even brought up the possibility of prescribing morphine to help with it. But after much debate amongst themselves, they determined that his best chance of getting over such habitual drunkenness was to clear his system entirely. Bates did not disagree, not after he saw a few fellow patients who were recovering from drugs as well as alcohol. But his desire for relief often left him wishing for one more glass of whiskey.

With the pain as a familiar and constant companion, Bates focused on his will power and determination to stay the course. He also found that active occupation helped him keep his mind off his circumstances. The home had any manner of distractions for patients but he preferred to spend his time in one of the workshops at the back of the property. He focused on wood working, something he'd never tried his hand at before, but which he took to quite well.

In the evenings, when the lamps burned low and most of the others had gone to sleep, Bates stayed awake. He suffered from severe insomnia, partially from the lack of alcohol and the ever-present pain, but also from the nervousness in sleeping in a strange place. Sometimes panic would take hold of him, transporting him back to his cell in prison or even all the way back to Africa.

On those nights, he sat up late writing letters to Anna. He wrote to her often and about everything. He told her about the physical misery of giving up the alcohol, of the pains and indignities his body put him through and the unending yearning in his mind. He put in probably too much information for her to bear, but in the end, it mattered little because he did not mail the letters. Anna still had no idea where he'd gone and he wished to remain at large for the time being. He was not even certain if his letters would be accepted. And even if they were, as much as he yearned for his wife, a deep part of himself could not stand the thought of seeing her again, not after that last night together.

But almost three weeks after his arrival, he received his answer. Telephoning his solicitor to see if anyone had attempted to contact him, Bates was informed that a stack of mail addressed to him from his wife had accumulated there. He arranged for the letters to be forwarded to him at the home and within a day he had them in hand.

She forgave him.

Bates' eyes filled with tears as he read through her missives, each one more poignant than the last. She still loved him. She missed him. In letter after letter, she begged him to return to her.

But as he poured through her letters, Bates took in a sharp breath as he realized something else - Anna blamed herself. She pointed out that she'd been the one to buy him the whiskey. He'd refused it at first, but she'd left it there to tempt him. Apologizing to him and berating herself for her contribution to his misery, she took responsibility for his leaving.

The tears flowed freely as he read her words, small sobs suddenly overtaking his body. He had never conceived of the possibility that Anna might blame herself for his sins. How could she not understand that he was the guilty party and she the innocent?

His temper flared as it often had over the past weeks, and he threw the letters across the room. Rage filled him, but its only target was his own stupid, selfish self. Anna was a good woman - the best woman he'd ever known. He'd put her through hell several times over, and now he'd led her to believe that _she _was somehow wanting? That _her _conduct had been in some way at fault?

He truly had become his father, Bates despaired, a violent and undeserving man who only brought pain to the people who loved him.

After that, he fell into a deep depression for many days. He barely ate at meals, pushing his food around to make it look as though he'd made an effort. He stopped going to the workshop and instead sat in a chair in the parlor for hours on end. The doctors noticed his sadness but he refused to talk about it. Finally, after a week of this, one of them confronted him.

The man, a Doctor Berridge, told him plainly, "You are here voluntarily, Mister Bates. If being here isn't helping you, perhaps you should go home."

"If I even have a home to go to," Bates responded morosely.

"What of the man paying for your stay with us?"

Bates had tried to refuse the money from Lord Grantham, but when he found out His Lordship had begun to pay the house directly, there was little he could do to stop it. Besides, the expense was considerable and would have quickly drained his and Anna's savings, which Bates was loathe to touch.

"He is - was- my employer. We served together."

Berridge raised an eyebrow. "In the Great War? We have a number of men here who used to be soldiers."

"No, the Boers," Bates answered. "And if only I'd come here back then, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble."

The doctor pointed out, "You're here now. That's saying a lot. Of course you don't seem to be doing as well lately as you did before." When Bates made no comment, he pressed, "Have you had bad news from home?"

He was silent for a long moment before responding. "Letters from my wife, that's all."

"And what does she have to say about all this?"

Bates avoided the man's curious and thoughtful gaze, not liking such focus on him or such questions about his life. "She's very supportive," he said simply.

"You must be looking forward to seeing her again, to going home. Once you're sufficiently cured, of course."

Cured. Bates wondered if such a thing were even possible. He'd thought himself cured years before, when he'd been released from prison. And yet, here he was back at the beginning of it all, having to fight and scrape through each day. Everything he thought he'd accomplished in life was gone.

"I wonder if it wouldn't be better for her if I don't," he said quietly

"Don't return home?" the doctor asked in surprise.

Sighing, Bates explained, "I was not the best husband to her, not for a while. She says she forgives me, but..."

Nodding in understanding, Berridge put forth, "You must love your wife very much."

Bates chuckled at the understatement. He spoke aloud as though talking to himself, "She's my reason for living. Without her, my life is nothing. I am nothing. And yet, I still managed to hurt her, to physically lay hands on her and..." Realizing his audience, he cut himself off, cringing with pain both inside and out.

"But she forgives you?" the doctor persisted, more a reminder of what he'd already said than a question.

Snorting in derision, he said, "She blames herself for bringing me the whiskey.

The doctor folded his arms across his chest and remarked, "Blame isn't very helpful in these circumstances. Focus on her absolution."

"If I can ever be worthy of it."

"And you can be," Berridge emphasized, "if you resolve yourself and work hard."

Bates frowned, but the concept piqued his interest. Perhaps he could earn back the right to be with Anna once more. He would have to go beyond no longer being a drunkard. He had to deal with the pain from his injury, the source of the problem. And that would mean going to a doctor.

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait between chapters. I'm afraid real life has gotten in the way of my writing lately. But I intend to see this story through, especially for the impossibly patient and lovely reviewers who are so good as to let me know their thoughts on each chapter. Thank you again.**

* * *

Bates sat in the parlor after dinner, his crutches leaned up against his chair on the floor beside him. While he rarely took to socializing with the other patients outside of meals, this evening was slightly different. There was a new patient, David Martin, a young man who'd been injured in the war who Doctor Berridge thought might benefit from speaking to him. Bates had resisted at first, but the doctor asked it as a personal favor.

"I don't even know why I'm here," the young man said, his voice dripping in bitterness.

"You're here to rebuild your life, I imagine," Bates commented dryly.

Martin glowered at him. "My life was fine before. I'm only here because my father threatened to cut me out of the business if I didn't come."

With a glance at the man's empty left sleeve rolled up to just above where his elbow would have been, Bates nodded silently. No wonder Berridge had wanted him to speak to the man. Martin was a version of himself after he'd returned injured from the Boers.

"Do you have a wife?" he asked after several minutes.

"Yes. No. Well, I did, but she left me months ago. Took our boys and went. After all I lost, fighting for king and country." The younger man's anger matched his sullen demeanor. "Said I was good for nothing."

"Because you are a drunkard," Bates stated, his brief time with the man inclining him more towards his wife's point of view.

Martin responded with a level glare.

"She didn't understand. Ungrateful woman."

Martin's anger reminded Bates of his own feelings upon returning home from Africa. Vera didn't understand. She didn't even try to understand. But then again, he hadn't been any better of a husband to Vera than he'd been to Anna before leaving her. Ultimately, he'd disappointed both women.

"All she did was complain about me drinking. Morning, noon, and night, she harped on me, like I don't have a right to a little peace," Martin grumbled. Bates said nothing, but he stared at him with an iron gaze. "And don't pretend like you're better than me, mister. We're the same, you and I, drunkards the lot of us."

Shaking his head, the older man stated, "I'm not the same as you, not anymore. Once, I was angry. I blamed everyone else for my troubles, including my wife. But I cleaned myself up. I took responsibility for my mistakes. And I got a good position and found someone who truly cares about me."

Martin snorted. "But you still ended up back here, didn't you?" he said triumphantly, standing and walking away. Despite his injured arm, he could still do that, could still stand unassisted and walk away.

While Bates had meant to sound uplifting in his story, he realized with resignation that the younger man spoke the truth. He was still a drunkard, a man no better than Martin who cursed his wife for refusing to put up with a bitter and intoxicated husband.

As it so often did, his mind went to Anna. He missed her so desperately. While his desire for whiskey had begun to come under a tight but slippery control, his anguished need for her remained strong. It would be so easy to give in, to take the train back to Downton and let her welcome him back into their home with happy tears and a warm embrace.

But he resisted that urge.

He still could not face her. With sobriety had come not just a burning shame for what he'd put her through, but also her lack of anger at him. Somewhere deep down, he wanted her to hate him, to despise him for hurting her. He needed that echoing confirmation of his own self loathing. Her forgiveness would make things too easy for him to return to his vices.

Had she left him like Martin's wife, perhaps her absence would have spurred him to quit the whiskey sooner, before he'd so completely ruined things. But Anna had stayed with him through it all, and now he could not fathom returning to her less than what he had been before all of this began. He could only go back as a whole man and fit husband.

* * *

Anna's stomach growled as she stepped off the train from yet another fruitless trip to London. Her husband's solicitor had been less than forthcoming, only telling her that her letters had been passed on but that the professional was not a mail service. He refused to share Mr. Bates' location or even his condition if he knew it.

Heading straight to Downton, Anna ignored her hunger as she changed into one of the black dresses she'd left there for this purpose before going up to help Lady Mary change for dinner.

"How was your trip?" Her Ladyship asked as Anna arranged her hair, her face a picture of both focus and distraction.

"Another waste of time, milady," she answered truthfully. "Although I did get a lead for my next trip to London. There is an inebriate home I might check in at. I'm told they won't give out information about patients, not by letter, but maybe if I turn up..."

Lady Mary nodded. "If there's anything I can do..." she offered.

"Thank you." Anna smiled, one of her genuine but forced expressions.

"Is it lonely down at the cottage by yourself?

Anna shrugged her shoulders at the question. She both enjoyed and hated having so much space to herself. When her husband was in prison, she'd at least been living at the house and could surround herself with people and noise. The same was true now, but the nights were truly empty and sometimes frightening without her husband's comforting presence in bed beside her.

"I manage, milady," she responded, putting the final touches on her hair and seeing her employer off to dinner.

After collecting Lady Mary's discarded clothes, Anna ran into Lord Grantham in the hallway. He raised an eyebrow in question, to which she simply shook her head.

"I'd have thought he would have contacted you by now," he said, his brow furrowed as he frowned in disappointment.

"If he is trying to keep me from worrying, he's doing a poor job of it, milord," Anna stated frankly. "I know you said you don't know where he is, but if you could just tell me if he's all right..."

"He is," the Earl said suddenly. "I can't tell you more than that, but you deserve to know that he's not dead in a ditch somewhere."

Anna sighed with such relief she almost fainted from the strength of it. "Thank God," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly.

"I understand his reasons for leaving, but I don't condone his keeping you in the dark like this. I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do about having him contact you."

Anna nodded, too grateful to be angry that he'd lied to her. "Thank you so much."

By the time she made her way down to the servants' hall, Anna's hunger had faded away. Between discussing her loneliness with Lady Mary and the unexpected news from Lord Grantham, food was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Any luck?" Mrs. Hughes asked upon spotting her in the corridor.

She shook her head. "I don't know where he is, but His Lordship has at least confirmed that he is somewhere safe."

"Thank God for that," the housekeeper said with a sigh. "I suppose he doesn't write because he does not want to worry you."

"All I do is worry," Anna said with a despondent laugh. "This is worse than when he was in prison. At least there, I could write to him, visit him. This is torture. It's like a prison of his own creation, made to punish him for the crimes he thinks he's committed. But he punishes us both."

"Oh, Anna..."

She took a deep breath and then sighed it out again. "And maybe I deserve the punishment as much as he," she went on.

Mrs. Hughes put a hand on her shoulder. "Neither of you deserve such sorrow. And believe me, I plan to let Mister Bates have what for when he returns for leaving the way he did and not telling you where he went."

Anna gave a small smile at the housekeeper's ire, the first she'd ventured in days. "You'll have to wait your turn, Mrs. Hughes."

That night, as Anna left Lady Mary's room to return downstairs, she happened upon His Lordship once again. Except this time, he was clearly waiting for her before going in to change.

"Milord?" she asked.

He reached out and handed her a piece of paper. It had an address written on it. "You didn't get this from me," he told her before entering his dressing room

* * *

After four weeks of recovery, Bates was out on parole for the first time since his arrival. While he'd wanted to use his cane to walk to his doctor's appointment, it was simply impossible. Instead he used the crutches, spending money to take a taxi to the clinic he'd been directed to visit. He grew increasingly agitated as the hour of his appointment time came and went. The receptionist graced him with apologetic smiles that did nothing but irritate him further. Exhaustion pulled at him, just the brief taxi ride having tired him out.

Finally, the door clicked open and the doctor emerged. "John Bates?"

He followed the man inside.

Nearly an hour later, he was back on the street, his head full of everything the doctor had told him. Bates had a lot to consider as he made certain potentially life altering decisions.

When he returned to Dalrymple House, Doctor Berridge approached him. Bates noticed a few of the other patients glancing in his direction, including young Martin.

"I've just met your wife," the man stated. "Lovely woman."

Swallowing with difficulty, Bates began to shake as he confirmed, "She was here?"

"She left about a half hour ago. Of course, we couldn't tell her anything. Confidentiality and such, but Mister Bates, I find it rather strange that she has no idea where you are."

"That's how I wish it," he stated evenly.

"Surely she has the right to know that you are safe and well."

Angry, tired, and bitter, Bates bit back, "She has the right to see me hanged for what I've done and yet..."

He had to reign in his anger. Snapping at one of the doctors would not help him. Besides, the source of his emotions was not Anna's visit at all. He was still reeling from what the specialist doctor had told him that morning. The possibility of Anna finding him was only an added fear.

"Mister Bates..." Berridge began, "Contact with your family can only help you in this process. If you had seen her, her concern for you, you'd know she holds no ill will against you."

He shook his head, refusing to hear. He knew from her letters what Anna thought, knew of her forgiveness and love. He also knew what Berridge did not seem to understand - that he'd abused Anna past forgiveness, perhaps even past redemption.

A fresh set of letters had arrived for him that day, all but one from Anna via his solicitor. The stray letter bore the same address but was from Lord Grantham himself, and it was addressed to him at the home and not his solicitor. Bates opened it first. Scanning through it, he quickly determined its purpose and sighed with resignation. His Lordship wrote to inform him of Anna's persistence in finding him and to not so subtly suggest that he respond to her. Bates doubted it was coincidence that Anna had finally succeeded in locating him.

Between the pain in his knee and the endless thoughts of his wife, Bates was too distracted to do much else the rest of the day. That night, plagued by nightmares full of his wife's tear-stained face and frightened screams, Bates gave up on sleep and sat down to write to Anna. His final letter to her.

Sealing it in an envelope with no return address, it was the only one of his letters he mailed.

_My darling Anna,_

_You mustn't concern yourself with my welfare. Please know that I am working to once again become the man you fell in love with, if I can ever be deserving of your love again. But shame for my actions haunts my every breath. Though you say you forgive me, I fear you will never be able to forget, and I cannot return to you until I can be sure of your safety in my presence._

_You are not to blame for what I have done, and it pains me to know you torture yourself with guilt. I alone am responsible for returning to a habit I knew would take hold of me so strongly. You did nothing but try to ease my suffering._

_It is my greatest hope to one day be worthy of such devotion once again. But until then, until I am once again a whole person, I cannot return to you._

_John_

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Anna's excitement at finally receiving the letter addressed to her in her husband's handwriting was overshadowed by its lack of a return address. Obviously, he did not want her to know his location. But at least he'd written.

The servants' hall was too public a place to read such a note and Anna could not walk back down to the cottage so early in the morning. Perhaps sensing her predicament, Mrs. Hughes asked Anna into her sitting room.

"I thought you might need some privacy," she told the lady's maid, shutting the door and leaving her alone to read the letter.

The tears began to flow even before she reached the end of his one-page note. His pain translated so clearly from the written word that Anna could almost feel it leaching into her skin from the paper itself. He spoke of hopes of returning, but she wondered if he only meant to keep her from worrying. And he'd actually written to reassure her of her own innocence in his drunkenness. As usual, her husband took all the blame on himself with none of it to spare for others.

"You stupid, stubborn man," she cursed him, holding the letter to her breast as she closed her eyes and let the tears roll down her cheeks. Still speaking to him, her voice so laden with emotion that it might travel across all the intervening space and reach his ear, "Please be safe. Please come home."

* * *

"Was that your daughter came a few days ago, looking for you?"

Martin entered the workshop, his hand tucked into his trouser pocket. While he clearly addressed the question to Bates, he looked around the small building. The work benches were well stocked with tools and held unfinished projects of all different types. Bates had found a stool to sit on by the bench where he worked. No other men were there due to the late hour.

"I don't have children. The woman you saw was likely my wife, Anna."

Raising an eyebrow in a deliberate attempt at surprise, Martin asked, "Your wife? She looked too young for you."

Having grown used to such barbed comments in prison, Bates answered simply, "She is a beautiful woman."

"Well, at least your wife cares enough to come," Martin muttered darkly.

Bates took the opportunity to look at the man, to truly assess the tortured individual before him. At first he'd assumed the one-armed soldier was there to try and make trouble. But the more he examined him, he could see something past that façade of angry resentment. He could see a side of Martin struggling to not just get past his addiction, but the very reasons why he turned to the bottle in the first place.

"Have you tried writing to your wife?" Bates asked.

"I wouldn't know where to send a letter."

"What about your other family?"

Martin shrugged. "My ma writes me sometimes, gives me the news from home."

Bates shared, "I have no other family but Anna."

"She looked like a decent woman. Very insistent with the doctors."

Sighing, he acknowledged, "She is the finest of women and much better than I deserve."

Bates was rarely so open or honest with others, particularly other patients, but he felt like a small weight was lifted as he talked about Anna. His guilt over leaving her and refusing to tell her his where he was had been playing on his mind since his arrival, and it had only gotten worse.

"Sounds like she put up with the drinking better than my wife," Martin noted with a hint of sarcasm.

"No woman should have to endure that from a husband."

Looking down at his work, Bates tried to push away the image that came to his mind unbidden – Anna beneath him, her tiny wrists in his hands, her face twisted in anguish. As his breathing increased, Bates' knee throbbed in rhythm.

"You're lucky, you know. Your wife cares enough to come visit," Martin pointed out, suddenly even more bitter than before. His eyes traveled over the tools on the workshop table. "You can at least still be useful."

"Useful?" Bates challenged, suddenly flashing with anger. "I haven't walked normally in years. I'll likely never be able to work again, not with this leg, not even with a very expensive surgery. And my wife… she'll have to take care of me, of the both of us. You think you're a cripple, but you can at least walk around under your own power. I can barely get around with crutches. In a few years, Anna may have to push me in a chair. You think that's lucky?"

Martin glared at him, taken aback by the older man's sudden outburst. "You don't know what it's like having only one arm…" he began.

Bates shot back. "All you can think about is how hard life is for you. You don't think about how it is for others. A lot of men came home injured and broken. And they got on with their lives. They didn't have to drink to cope, not most of them. Your arm is just an excuse, just like my leg was an excuse for me."

Shaking with the force of his emotions, he wanted to storm out, to turn his back on the young ex-soldier so intent on convincing others of his rough time. But Bates had things to do. If he completed the project he was working on – a small child's toy – the home could sell it to a nearby shop for a small bit of money that would come back to him. It wasn't much of an income, but it was something. It was also a goal to accomplish.

Martin simply stood there watching him work for a time. The silence between them shifted from uncomfortable to just tense.

His irritation gradually fading away as the minutes passed, Bates finally stopped his work and nodded the man over. "Here," he said. "Put your hand on this and hold it down."

Surprisingly, the young man did as directed. Bates sanded the wood pieces the other man held together and then took them back.

"Now go fetch me some glue from that table over there."

Martin did as he was told. The two men worked together in relative quiet for a half an hour with Bates giving the occasional instruction. The one armed man struggled with his disability, but he quickly learned to adapt as needed to the more difficult requests. But they both soon tired and decided to head to the main house.

As Bates closed up the workshop, he found himself asking Martin in a quiet voice, "Your wife… did you ever hurt her, when you were on the bottle?"

The younger man paused then looked back at him. "You mean did I ever strike her?"

Bates gave a clarifying nod.

"No. Never anything like that," Martin responded. Understanding seemed to dawn on his face as he looked at Bates with growing horror. "Did you…" he began, but the question died on his lips.

Pushing off on the crutches towards the house, Bates declared, "Then you still have a chance to win back your wife, to get your life together again."

* * *

Anna did the chores at the cottage in the evenings. She could not spare to leave them until her half day as those precious hours of liberty were usually reserved for trips to London. And when she could not get away, she spent her time continuing to write letters in search of her husband. While she firmly believed John to still be in London, she'd expanded her search to other cities. Someone had to have an idea where he was, and eventually she hoped that her desperate pleas would fall on the ears of some sympathetic individual.

Such efforts left her evening hours to take care of the maintenance of their home. Of course, Anna did not mind the work. Work was her salvation, the occupation which kept her mind off worrying about her husband. And she could not help but worry. Was he still in pain? Had he managed to give up the drinking?

His letter had stopped her short in her work to find him. He spoke of his shame and of hurting her, and Anna again wondered what he remembered of that last night. Obviously he recalled enough to believe he should stay away from her, that he was a danger to her person.

Finishing up her final tasks around the house, Anna turned down the bed and looked longingly at her husband's empty side. She'd spent many a night alone in that bed while he was drinking as he often had not not bothered to make the trip upstairs. But this emptiness was so different. His presence was gone from the house, and with it, Anna felt her sense of safety disappear as well. At first, every noise and creek and shadow startled her and left her heart racing with fear. In the weeks since Bates' departure, she'd finally begun to sleep through the night without startling awake half a dozen times. But she still dreamed of him as her arms clutched his pillow tightly against her.

In her dreams, they woke in each other's arms, the morning light bathing them in golden tones. They enjoyed picnics in Scotland in the afternoons and spent their evening meal exchanging knowing smiles across the servants' hall table. Anna could recall his smile – the way the skin around his eyes crinkled with his humor even as he gazed at her with open affection. She missed that smile as much as she missed his strong arms around her waist.

In the morning before heading up to Downton, Anna sat at the table and re-read the letter from her husband once more. Since receiving it, she had been conflicted as to what she should do. Keep looking for him? Or give up the search? Finally, she took put her pen and put it to paper. After finishing her letter, she sealed it in an envelope and placed it in her pocket to post in the village later in the afternoon.

* * *

One letter came for him from the solicitor's office rather than the typical bundle. A solitary letter from Anna. He inhaled a faint hint of her scent from the envelope as he opened it, and Bates knew instinctively that it would be the last one he received from her.

_Dear John,_

_I hope you are well. You are always in my thoughts, every moment of every day. I understand that you feel you need to do this by yourself, and I won't continue to press you. But you must know how much I want to be there for you, to help you. I promise not to hinder any progress you might have made. And I will do anything you ask of me. _

_I love you, John. Before we met, I never knew what it was to love any one person this much. I know you feel the same. I know you do. While I hate this separation from you, I will bear it if it is what you need. So take my love with you. Keep it close and never doubt it because it will always be yours. I will always be your wife, waiting for the day when we can be together again._

_All my love, _

_your wife, Anna_

Blinking back tears, Bates realized immediately that he'd made the mistake of reading the letter in the workshop when he heard the sound of a man clearing his throat behind him. Looking up, he saw Martin standing in the doorway. But the other man showed no interest in Bates' letter as he held his own in hand.

"She wants to see me," the young soldier stated, sounding both elated and absolutely terrified. "I wrote to my ma, and she sent me this letter from my wife. She wants to come visit."

Nodding with complete understanding of both emotions, Bates stated, "That is terrific news."

"Do you think I should see her?" Martin asked him nervously.

With a shrug, Bates answered, "The doctors encourage visits from family."

"Yes, but... what if I mess it up again?"

Bates shivered as the question hit home. He'd struggled with the same issue, ultimately pushing it away. Raw fear clawed at him as he thought of Anna and ruining his life with her.

"That's a risk you'll have to take," he advised the man finally.

But Martin narrowed his eyes at Bates. "That's fine talk from a man who hides from his own wife. I've seen the stacks of letters you get from her."

Spying the paper in Bates' hand, Martin reached out and snatched it away before backing up several steps. Unable to go after him, Bates glowered at the other patient as Martin's eyes danced across the letter.

The young man's face softened as he read Anna's words. "She wants to be with you," he said, somewhat dumbfounded. "She isn't even angry."

Bates looked at the floor, unable to meet the other man's accusing eyes.

"Why would you push her away?" he demanded in clear disgust.

Bates did not respond right away. Instead, he let a few seconds pass before he said very quietly and very deliberately, "Because I hurt her."

Confusion mixed with disbelief on Martin's face, as though he had some personal involvement in the other man's relationship with his wife. "What did you do?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I hurt her. She forgives me, but I think she'd forgive me anything. She's that kind of person. Her love for me is without limit, and this situation proves it. I abused her and if I go back to her now, before things are resolved, I may do so again."

Martin demanded, "So you tell me to see my wife, who was so fed up with me drinking that she left me, but you won't see your own wife. What kind of man are you?"

The question hit home so solidly that for a moment, Bates forgot to take a breath. What kind of man was he? The kind who took advantage of his beautiful and kind wife, who in a fit of drugged delusion had almost forced himself on her. He was the kind of man who somehow left her believing that she was at fault for his deficiencies. And even now he was the kind of man who failed her, who hurt her with his disappearance as much as he had done with his miserable presence.

"I can't see her," he admitted finally.

"Why not?"

He swallowed. "I know it isn't the same, but this is how I lost my first wife, Vera. We both drank back then, after my injury. I was unhappy and treated her as badly as she treated me. It isn't the same with Anna, but..."

What if he lost her forever? What if she finally saw him and realized that he was not the man she intended to marry? What if she grew to hate him as Vera had done?

Martin blinked as he took in the explanation. "You're a sorry bastard," he announced candidly. "You're punishing her for your mistakes. The woman who wrote this letter only wants to see you, and you're pushing her away. She came here _looking _for you. And all you can say for yourself is that you're afraid she won't like what she finds?"

Dropping Bates' letter on the bench beside him, the young man walked out of the workshop and left him to his thoughts.

* * *

More days passed and Bates continued to improve - all but the pain in his leg. He'd spoken with the doctors at Dalrymple House and despite some reservations, they'd agreed to him beginning to take morphine as prescribed by the specialist in advance of surgery. But they would be the ones to keep it locked up with the bit of alcohol sometimes used to step down inebriate patients, and they would dole it out to him as needed. Of course, he needed to stay on the crutches, to keep from further injuring his knee with the embedded shrapnel.

Bates did not mind the restriction. Part of him hated the thought of taking the drug, of needing it just to get through the day. But he had resigned himself to the reality of his existence. The first time taking the morphine, the usual agony retreated to the point that he almost did not know what to do. The lack of pain was such a ridiculously simple blessing that he could never express his relief.

He needed the morphine. It dulled the pain without obliterating his senses the way the whiskey had done. Once he acknowledged that he needed it, he knew he had to admit another.

He needed the surgery. Even if they were not able to fix the problem, even if it was extremely dangerous and might cost him his life, he had to try. He could not continue to live this way.

But his greatest realization was that most of all, he needed Anna.

In the days since his conversation with Martin, Bates could feel this last need growing like a gaping wound in his heart. Somehow the other man's words had broken through his wall of self-imposed exile and shaken the very foundation of his resolve.

Anna forgave him, he knew. He'd known for some time.

She wanted him to come home.

She still wanted _him_.

The day Martin's wife come to the house for a visit with the one-armed patient cemented his decision. As the petite brunette entered the parlor, Bates watched her eyes light up at the sight of her husband. Everyone in the room turned to look as he slowly approached her, his steps hesitant but determined. Finally, as he reached her position by the door, the woman's face cracked into a tearful smile as she wrapped her arms around Martin's neck.

Bates smiled as he watched the normal facade of angry bitterness melt from Martin's expression. In its place was a completely different man, one both humble and grateful for the help he had been forced to receive. He had changed dramatically, sobriety smoothing his rough edges and giving him control of his barbed tongue.

The scene gave Bates a little bit of hope for his own future. Knowing what he had to do, Bates stood from his chair and using his crutches, made his way to his room to retrieve pen and paper. With trembling hands, he wrote another letter.

_Dear Anna,_

_I was wrong before. I was wrong to leave you and I was wrong not to tell you of where I am. I've been at a place that has been helping me to quit drinking, hopefully this time forever. The pain in my leg remains, but I've seen a doctor and am now managing the pain. I cannot imagine you wanting to visit me, not after all I have put you through, but if you wish it, I would be grateful to see you. _

_Your love is the greatest gift of my life, and I have accepted it very poorly. You have my whole heart, Anna, and you always will. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but you deserve better from me than I have given. _

_Please come._

_Your loving husband, John_

He included the address on the bottom of the page and made sure it went out in the day's post.

And then he waited.

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: For everyone who's stuck with it so far...**

**Thanks for the reviews. Ya'll are awesome. I appreciate knowing what people think of each chapter.**

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"There is a woman here to see you."

Berridge said the words as he crossed the foyer of the house, worn out from his latest visit to the doctor for his knee. They'd scheduled the surgery and at this latest visit, the doctor had informed him of what to expect.

Bates stopped as Berridge's pronouncement cut through his mental turmoil. "My wife?"

He nodded. "The other patients seemed a little too curious about her, so I told her she could wait for you in your room."

Raising an eyebrow at the special treatment - women were not allowed in the patients' rooms - he did not question the doctor.

The hallway down to his small, first floor room was not a long one, but on this day, it seemed to stretch for miles. When he finally did reach the open door, he hesitated slightly before peeking his head around the corner.

The sight of her stole his breath away.

Anna looked just the same. Her golden hair was tightly braided and piled under a woolen hat. She seemed so small, almost swallowed up by the coat she wore, which she kept buttoned despite the relative warmth of the room.

She'd seated herself on his bed, forsaking the chair by the writing table, and was thumbing through the book he'd left on his nightstand. The stack of all her letters was kept in the drawer, but he'd left a few of his favorites, the ones he preferred to re-read late at night, under the book. Anna must have seen them but had obviously not touched them.

For a time, Bates simply stood in the doorway and watched her. He'd been careful to make little sound on his way down the hall, the clicking of his crutches on the wooden floor swallowed up by the voices and general noise of the dozens of other men living in the house.

Finally, when he'd grown used to the sight of her again and could stand it for not a moment longer, Bates said aloud, "You came."

Startled, Anna looked up at him. Matching his rough voice with his familiar face, she said, "Of course I came."

She quickly slid off the bed and approached him, but after taking a few steps, she stopped, just out of reach.

"How are you?" Anna asked carefully, as though she were addressing a distant relation she had not seen in some years.

"Better," he answered.

"Your leg?"

"I take morphine for the pain."

She nodded, accepting this. "Does it help?"

"It helps. I could take more, but..." Not wanting to get into the uncomfortable side effects of the drug, Bates went on, "It certainly helps."

"You said in your letter that you've stopped drinking," Anna prompted.

"Yes."

"That's good."

She stood so far away from him - so close, but so impossibly far - and he could not make himself reach out for her. His doubting mind threatened him with images of her pulling away, of the disgust he'd seen on Vera's face when he'd returned home from Africa, his knee in ruins and his life not far behind.

A sudden craving for whiskey hit him with unexpected strength.

"How are you?" he managed to ask.

"Better now," Anna said with small smile. Her eyes betrayed only love with no recrimination.

Moving slowly as though not to spook him, she closed the distance between them. Her touch was gentle but firm as she reached for him. The crutches made wrapping her arms around him difficult, so he set them aside and leaned heavily on the door frame, keeping the weight off his bad leg. Anna frowned and seemed apt to protest, but when she noticed no pain in his features, she resumed her motion.

Bates let out an involuntary gasp as her hands slid along his waist and encircled him, bringing her body flush against his. He could feel the heat of her even through the thick coat, her familiar curves so welcome that he let out a shuddering gasp of pleasure.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked immediately, moving as though to pull away from him.

He breathed out, "Far from it."

Delicately, he wrapped one arm around Anna's back, keeping his muscles relaxed so that she could pull away if necessary. It occurred to him that the last time he'd seen Anna, the last time he'd touched her, was the night that regularly revisited him in his nightmares. His knee ached sympathetically, a dull reminder of that moment and of how long it had been since his dose of morphine that morning.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She tensed at the apology, and then squeezed him more tightly.

"Don't-" she began.

"I must," Bates insisted.

She shook her head. "I saw that you got my letters. You know how I feel."

"What I did can't be forgiven, not so easily."

He pulled slightly away from her, and she reluctantly let him go. He immediately missed her warmth, her delicate scent and the aura of safety which surrounded her. But he could not speak of his crimes while enjoying her touch. Doing so felt almost sacrilegious, as though he would be victimizing her again.

"You've done nothing..."

He sighed, hating that she felt the need to defend him even now. "I remember what I did, or most of it. It is the definition of an unforgivable sin."

Anna looked away slightly, and he could see his memory of that night confirmed in the sheen of tears beginning to build in her eyes. But a moment later, she declared with certainty, "You didn't hurt me."

"Did I leave bruises?" he asked pointedly.

She said nothing.

"Did I frighten you?"

Again, she remained quiet.

Finally, he demanded with aching guilt, "Did you ask me to stop?"

He took her continued silence as confirmation of all of his questions.

Letting out a halting breath, Bates used his crutches to cross the room and take the seat by the small desk he used to write his letters. The confirmations of his worst fears hit him hard, but they were not unexpected. He knew what he'd done. The gaps in his memories had been filled in by horror-stricken nightmares, but he knew the basics.

"You weren't trying to hurt me," Anna said quietly, retaking her seat on the edge of his mattress. "I never believed for a second that was your intention."

He shook his head, such details mattering little. "I'm lucky I fell off the bed. I could have seriously hurt you." Squeezing his eyes shut at the choice of his words, he amended, "I mean could have hurt you even more than I did..."

"John, stop," Anna begged. "You didn't. I was only frightened. And you let me go when you came back to yourself."

"When I came back to myself..." he repeated, disgusted that she should have to make such justifications for an offense committed against her.

"What happened was not unforgivable. It was a mistake, mine as well as yours," she went on.

Hearing her self indictment, Bates said, "Please, stop casting blame on yourself. You had no part in any of my despicable actions, least of all this one."

"I brought you the whiskey-"

"And I drank it. It was my act, my fault. Not yours, Anna. Never, ever yours."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence in which Bates found it difficult to breath.

"Then where do we go from here?" Anna finally inquired. "If you won't let me forgive you and I refuse to blame you for something you didn't even understand you were doing, then what is to be done?"

"You could... divorce me," he forced out, "if you wish."

"I would never divorce you," Anna stated, her tone betraying the absurdity of the suggestion.

He continued as though he hadn't heard her, "Cruelty is grounds enough, but add to it abandonment and-"

"I said _no_."

Her sharp rebuke rang through the small room.

"Then what do you want?" John asked quietly, his despair evident.

He could hear the tears in her voice as she answered, "I want you back. I want you home with me today and every day after. I want us to be together, and I'd give up everything on this earth to make it happen."

The passion in her answer frightened him and left him worried for what she would endure, for his sake. For weeks, she'd put up with his intractable pain, his drunken moodiness, and all the other deficiencies brought on by his vice.

"You shouldn't have to give up anything," he stated. "You've done nothing but make sacrifices for us to be together since the moment we met-"

"Whatever sacrifices I've made, I'd make them all again, gladly," Anna said.

He sighed at her stubbornness. "What if I go back to it?" he demanded. "What if I hurt you again, worse this time?"

"You wouldn't-"

"What if I have the surgery on my knee and they can't fix it. What if I am an invalid and can never walk again?"

"Then I will work for both of us and take care of-"

He closed his eyes at how easily the words came from her lips. "No," he said strongly, fighting back his anger as he balled his hands into fists. "I won't force you into the role of nurse maid."

Her tone stern, Anna responded, "I told you before, I made vows to you. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"How could I possibly hold you to those vows?" Bates appealed, the question almost rhetorical. "You working every day at Downton only to come home at night and to care for me? What kind of life is that?"

"It's the life I want," Anna insisted. "If it is the only way that we can be together, then it is the life I want."

Chills swept over his skin, wave after wave of them as her declarations penetrated his mind. For so long, Bates had pushed away her love, had denied himself as unworthy of it and capable of bringing her nothing but ruin. And then, she had convinced him to marry her, despite the terrible risk that he would be arrested and imprisoned for Vera's murder. He'd been selfish to do it, but he could not deny that day in the Ripon registrar's office was one of the happiest of his life. And he indulged the fantasy that Anna felt the same.

He knew that he could live with Anna's love, with her blessing and forgiveness, so long as he was not a burden to her for the rest of his life. But he could not bear the thought of eating from her wages, of existing in the cottage she alone maintained. It would not do.

Bates sighed, and after a moment he stated, "I've seen a doctor while I was here in London. About my knee."

He'd spoken of it in his letter, so Anna betrayed no surprise. "What did he say?"

"There is a surgery they can try. They may be able to remove the shrapnel, or at least enough of it to cut back on the pain. But the knee is already so damaged..."

Anna frowned. "What if it doesn't work?"

"More damage. The possibility of infection... I could lose the leg. Or worse."

Anna did not shudder - not quite. She let a moment pass before she responded. "Is it worth the risk?"

John turned slightly to look at her. She read the concern in his eyes. He told her, "It is my only possibility for a return to the life we had. I have to try. If it works, and I can still walk, I'll come home. Lord Grantham may take me back as his valet. If not, I'll find a position doing something in the village or in Ripon."

"And if it doesn't work?"

He shook his head and he knew Anna understood his meaning. If the procedure failed, he would not come back to her. He would not continue to subject her to his misery or force her to care for an invalid. Nevermind how he would exist.

"If it doesn't work, you will still come home with me," she declared.

"Anna..."

"No. I will not hear argument on this. You pushed me away long enough. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? I didn't even know if you were alive or safe or..."

Her voice cracked with the tidal wave of emotion, and the tears she'd been holding back for so long finally crested. But she did not sob. Rather, the tears came out silently, sliding down her cheeks with the sort of graceful elegance Bates expected of his wife. Everything she did, even crying, was beautiful.

"I know leaving hurt you..." he began.

"Do you?" she questioned sharply. "Do you really?"

He confessed, "I couldn't bear to see you, not after what I'd done."

Anna looked away, pressing a palm to her face to wipe at the moisture there. Her anger seemed more like a memory of hopelessness than anything else. And just being in the same room with him seemed to make it difficult for her to maintain such fury.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Anna asked, pressing forward. "When can you have the surgery done?"

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'll have to write Lord Grantham to ask for the money to pay for it, which I've been hesitant to do. He's already paid for me to stay here, which is a not inconsiderable sum. I hate the idea of continuing to trespass on his kindness."

Anna blinked at him in confusion. "We have some money saved-" she began.

"Not enough, and that money belongs to you," he argued.

She sputtered, "No, it doesn't. It is ours, our savings. Much of it came from your mother and rents from her house. It doesn't belong to me."

"Yes, it does," John said forcefully. "It is yours and yours alone. I left you. I... abandoned you. That money is for you if you need it in the future. If I can't be there to support you, then at least you have something."

"I don't care about the money. I care about you."

Bates' shoulders slumped at the sound of so much pain in her voice. He knew he'd hurt her by staying away, by not contacting her. But fear of this conversation had led to his cowardice.

"I'm sure His Lordship would be willing to pay for it," Anna ventured after a moment. "Especially if it means you might come back to Downton."

"Has Thomas been looking after him while I was gone?" Bates asked.

Anna nodded. "No one denies that Thomas can do the job, but he is more comfortable with you." Biting her lip, she suggested, "I can ask him for you, so you don't have to write. It could be a favor to me rather than another request from you. We could even pay the money back gradually, from both our wages..."

Bates sighed. "It may not even work. If I'm still left crippled-"

"Then we'll deal with that if it comes. But I won't let you exile yourself to the streets, not while I have a roof over my head and a source of income." Anna gave him a pleading look. "Please, John. Stop torturing yourself. No one deserves the pain you have been subjected to, especially not you."

He shook his head, unable to admit the truth of her statement.

Anna went on, her tone strong and convincing, "You are worthy of love and happiness. You are worthy of everything."

"Not you," John contradicted. He could feel his mask slipping, his own tears brimming in his eyes. "I was never worthy of you."

Bares barely let out the sobs as they came. The tears broke through, tempered by his inner barriers as he tried to keep them in. Anna was at his side in an instant, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him firmly to her as he shook with the violence of his restrained emotions. She held him like that for a long time, whispering quiet endearments in the still room and rubbing circles with her hands across his back. His body trembling, he accepted her comfort and did not push her away.

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TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting. I had an unfortunately timed attack of real life.**

**As always, thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. Feedback is the lifeblood of any writer of chapter-to-chapter stories so it is much appreciated :)**

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They talked for over two hours and at the end of their visit, Anna was reluctant to leave him. But having only received permission for the one day in London, she needed to return to Downton to arrange for a more extended absence.

"You don't have to be here for the surgery," Bates told her softly.

"Of course I do, you silly beggar." She spoke lightheartedly, but he could see the resolve in her eyes. "You said it could be dangerous."

"The anesthesia is a risk, but it has to be done for them to go through with the procedure."

Anna nodded in understanding. "But what of the surgery itself?" she asked. "I want to be there when you come out of it."

"It will take weeks for me to recover before I can leave the hospital," Bates warned her. "You shouldn't be away from Downton for that long."

"I'll work things out with Lady Mary and His Lordship," she assured him. "But I need to be there with you."

He could see how profoundly their separation had effected his wife, the somewhat haunted look in her eyes and the way she could not seem to go a moment without reaching out to touch him. Her hand found his when he was not using the crutches, and even when he used them to stand up, she let her fingers brush across his arm and shoulder, as though to reassure herself that he was still there.

Reinforcing her actions with words, she noted, "I still can't believe I'm finally seeing you again."

"I'm sorry I caused you such hardship," Bates told her, sincerely.

"Just don't leave me again," she instructed. "I don't think I could survive it."

"Anna..." he began. He had so much to say to her and knew not where to begin. With a sigh, he plunged ahead. "I shouldn't have left you. I know that. But you _should _haveleft me. Or thrown me out. You should never have endured what I put you through. I was wrong to subject you to it, I know, but you were wrong to endure it without complaint."

Her forehead wrinkled in distress as she began to argue, "But you didn't-"

"I did," Bates interrupted. "And no woman should put up with that. Not even you, Anna, as sweet and kind as you are... Especially not you."

She shook her head, slowly and with purpose. "I won't abandon you. I wouldn't then and I won't now, no matter what comes."

He went to speak again, but she pressed two fingers to his lips. "And don't you dare say one word about being undeserving, John Bates. I'm so very lucky to be your wife, and you won't ever convince me otherwise."

Without preamble and ignoring his crutches, she took hold of the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to meet her in a kiss. While he had to hold onto the crutches for support and could not encircle her waist with his hands, the searing heat of her lips left him breathless and light headed.

"I'll miss you," he ventured softly as they separated.

"Not as much as I'll miss you," Anna returned. She stepped towards the door, her hand finally being forced to drop from him as he followed her out of his room, down the hallway and into the house's foyer. Other patients watched them with curious eyes as they came from the area of the patients' rooms. Several bent to whisper between themselves.

Anna raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, and he whispered to her with a touch of humor, "Maybe they think you're my daughter."

Suppressing a giggle at this suggestion, Anna's eyes sparkled with mischief. For good measure, she kissed him again in front of the others. It was a chaste kiss comparatively, but enough to dispel any rumors regarding her identity.

"I love you," he told her, unable to hold back a genuine sigh of relief. He'd so feared this meeting, what she would say and do. He knew Anna too well to believe she'd reject him, even as badly as he'd hurt her. But the fear was always there, whispering in the back of his mind.

Smiling at him brightly, she said, "I love you, too."

He watched from the front porch as she walked away from the house in the direction of the train station. He stood there, the pain in his knee beginning to worsen as the dose of morphine he'd taken that morning wore off. But Bates barely noticed. His mind could entertain no other thoughts than those filled with Anna. For the first time in a very long time, he finally felt true hope for the future.

"So you finally saw her?"

Bates turned to the side, expecting to see his faithful shadow, Martin. But instead it was Doctor Berridge.

"I did," he admitted.

"And how did it go?"

With a sigh, he said, "My wife has an amazing capacity for love and forgiveness."

His wife. He could hardly bear to acknowledge her in such terms before this day, but now he once again felt like she still belonged to him. She was still his wife, both in law and in heart.

"The others were surprised you had a visitor," Berridge mentioned. "I think it gave them hope."

"That even an old curmudgeon like me has someone who cares about him?" Bates asked sardonically.

"That even an old curmudgeon like you can bring himself to reach out to those who care about him."

Giving him a knowing look, the doctor went back into the house leaving Bates by himself to think about all that Anna had said.

* * *

"She wants me to come home to her once I get out of here," Martin stated. He'd taken to helping Bates in the workshop in the afternoons, the normally dour young man more upbeat since the visit from his wife.

"And are you ready to live with her again?" Bates asked carefully.

"Not yet. But I will be. And my father says I can work with in his shop and learn the business. It'll be difficult," he said, shrugging his shoulder as he nodded to his missing arm, "but I'll learn to compensate when I need to."

Bate smiled at the younger man, proud of the dramatic change in his attitude.

"What about you?" Martin asks.

Sighing, he answered, "I'll have to see how the surgery goes..."

He trailed off as someone entered the workshop - a familiar figure. Bates automatically pushed himself to his feet, using the workbench for balance as he put his weight on his good leg. His crutches lay off to one side and he reached for them without thinking.

Martin looked from Bates to the visitor, confused by his friend's sudden stand to attention. But sensing that the well-dressed man in the doorway was of some importance, the former soldier quickly followed suit, standing and straightening his spine with his arm held stiffly at his side.

"My lord," Bates greeted the visitor quietly.

Lord Grantham favored him with a smile. "Bates, it's good to see you looking so well."

The injured man returned the smile with one of his own. Glancing at the younger man beside him, he said formally, "My lord, this is David Martin, a fellow patient. He was injured in the war. David, this is my former employer, Lord Grantham."

"Former and future employer, I hope," the Earl added.

"Oh, um... pleasure to meet you," Martin stated, bobbing his head. "Milord," he added, glancing at Bates.

"David, why don't we finish our discussion later?" he suggested.

"Of course." With another awkward nod at the Earl, he quickly left the two men alone in the workshop.

"You look well, Bates," Lord Grantham stated, beaming happily. "Anna says you're getting on very well here."

"I am, milord. And I cannot thank you enough for your generosity."

Waiving off the thanks, he said, "Whatever I can do, Bates. You know that. And that's one of the reasons I've come here. Anna mentioned to me that she'd been to see you and I thought I'd drop by while I'm in London on business."

"That's very good of you."

"And how are you getting on?" he asked, looking around the wood working shop.

"Well enough. Better than last we met."

Lord Grantham nodded to his leg. "And your leg?"

"They give me morphine for the pain. And I have an appointment for surgery."

Raising his eyebrows, the Earl noted, "Yes, Anna told me about that. She mentioned that it would be a great expense."

"Yes, milord," he acknowledged. "She suggested that I ask you for help, but you've already done so much for me..."

Shaking his head, Lord Grantham waved off the cost. "Think nothing of it. I am happy to assist. Truth be told, Thomas is a poor substitute, and anything I can do to possibly get you back is well worth it."

"And how are things at Downton?" Bates asked.

The Earl shrugged his shoulders. "Lady Mary has become active in running the estate. It worried me at first, but the work seems to be a good distraction for her."

"That's good to hear, milord."

The other man looked at him for a moment, his eyes discerning but not unkind, until he finally said frankly, "Bates, what are the chances the surgery will work, that you'll regain the use of your knee?"

While he'd been reluctant to give too many details to Anna, Bates had to answer His Lordship truthfully. "It won't ever be completely better, not even if the surgery is successful. The damage is too great and too old. And the risks of surgery itself are daunting. The anesthesia, the possibility of infection or pneumonia..."

"Why did they not remove this shrapnel before, when you first came back from Africa?" Lord Grantham questioned. "Surely that would have been easier than having to wait all this time?

"They thought leaving it in would be safer. And truthfully, considering how badly the surgery went back then, I tend to agree." Bates sighed. "I swore I'd never go back to a doctor for my injury, not after that."

"There have been many improvements in medical science since then," the Earl pointed out.

Bates nodded. "And surgery is my only chance at getting back to my old life. But it is only a chance."

The other man considered this for a moment carefully. "Bates, you know there's always a place for you - for you and for Anna - at Downton. I mean that."

"Thank you, milord."

A better reassurance was not to be had.

"Also, Anna has asked for time off to be with you after the surgery," Lord Grantham ventured. "And Lady Mary and I believe that is only reasonable. She will have lodging at Lady Rosamund's house while she's in London."

"Again, thank you, milord," Bates said, unable to keep the relief from his voice. With Anna there beside him for his recovery, perhaps he really could get through this daunting task. "I can never repay this kindness."

"Just get better and come back, if you can. Thomas really is a tiresome fellow, more so since his promotion to under butler, I think. And Anna hasn't been herself since you left." The Earl kept his tone and statements light, skirting the difficult subjects like an expert. There would be no expressions of sentiment as to missing the valet, nor would Lord Grantham scold him for keeping Anna uninformed of his whereabouts. But the implications were there.

"I'll do my best."

* * *

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I'm so glad people are sticking with this story! The subject matter is difficult, but I'm trying to be as true to both reality and the characters as I can be. **

**Thanks for the reviews and PMs. I love hearing what you think, even if it is to yell at me for worrying you about the fate of fictional characters :)**

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"So this is it," Berridge observed as Bates set his case down by the front door and turned to the doctor.

He leaned on his crutches. The morphine definitely helped with the pain, more than he ever imagined possible. But as he'd been told, if he continued to walk on his damaged knee, he could injure it further, perhaps beyond repair. And so the crutches remained necessary.

"I'm very grateful for all your help," Bates said, shifting his weight so that he could shake the other man's hand.

"No need for that. Just stay away from the bottle," Berridge answered. "And I say this to all departing patients - I hope not to see you again."

"That is my hope as well," Bates admitted with a look of good humor.

"And are you headed directly to the hospital?"

"Tomorrow morning," he stated.

"Good luck to you."

Nodding his head in acknowledgment, Bates made his way to the front porch and quickly found himself face-to-face with Martin. The younger man had been spending less and less time in the woodworking shop and more time visiting with his wife. He'd even been paroled that morning to go into the city to visit his parents. Bates was proud of his progress.

"Your wife coming to get you?" he asked.

Bates nodded. "Yes. I go into the hospital tomorrow, so we're staying the night at a nearby inn."

Martin raised an eyebrow and favored the other man with a sly grin. But Bates refused to be goaded into any suggestion of an assignation with his wife. In truth, the arrangements made him nervous, his mind full of the drunken weeks he'd spent at the cottage with Anna caring for his every whim.

Perhaps sensing his unease, Martin queried, "Are you still afraid?"

With a snort, Bates answered, "Terrified."

"She loves you," Martin pointed out. "Everyone who saw her when she visited could see that."

"That's what makes it so frightening," he revealed. "I have so very much to lose."

Before the other man could think of a reply, a taxi pulled up to the curb by the street. Anna stepped out of the back seat and the driver followed her up the steps as she pointed towards Bates' case so he could carry it to the car.

"Well, best to you, sir," Martin pronounced, offering his hand to the older man.

"And to you," Bates responded, shaking firmly.

By the time Anna arrived on the front porch, Martin had retreated back into the house. "A friend of yours?" she asked looking after him.

"Actually, yes," Bates responded.

When he did not elaborate further, she inquired, "Are you ready to go?"

"I think so."

He took care in going down the steps of the house on his crutches, and Anna hovered uncomfortably close. But once he reached the curb, Bates took a moment to look back at the Dalrymple House. It was a good place which did good work on men like him, not to mention many other former soldiers like Martin. He knew that there would always be those who returned to their drunkard ways. He'd fallen guilty of that himself despite many years of sobriety. But he hoped that the rest of the men he'd encountered in his stay would have better luck at a sober life.

Anna made room for his crutches and large frame in the back of the cab and the ride to the inn felt very much like the drive home to Downton after his release from prison. Except this time, Anna's elation was tempered by worry and the collection of anxiety which had accumulated during his time away. He wished he could quell her nerves, but there was little he could think to say.

They checked into their room easily, the desk clerk glancing at their married names and then at the younger woman and the man on crutches. But he said nothing.

"I doubt _he_ thought you were my father," Anna remarked with humor as they settled into their room.

"I doubt he thought you were my wife, either," Bates answered, more disapproval in his voice than mirth. He wished they could have gone to Lady Rosamund's house, but the stairs up to the servant's attic would have done him in. But at least there they would have been required to sleep in separate rooms.

"With you on crutches - injured and exhausted?" she countered. "What did he think we would be doing, even if we weren't married?"

He let the hypothetical question slide into silence. The crutches did inhibit him, and his knee would make any such activities difficult. Anna showed no inclination towards intimacy, not with both of them so worried over the next day's visit to the hospital, and Bates was relieved. His other concern, the one which lurked in the back of his mind, was the thought of sharing a bed once more with Anna. Just one look at it left him thinking about that night at the cottage, how in his drunkenness and drugged state he had tried to initiate something his wife did not want. And how much he'd frightened and hurt her.

Rather than sit on the bed beside her, Bates took a chair set in one corner by a window. With a small sigh of relief, he set the crutches aside and stretched out his leg. After so many weeks of use, he'd developed sores against his sides and under his arms where the crutches rubbed against him. He was glad of every opportunity to be rid of them. But they were the least of his worries.

He tried to push away the voice of the doctor, the one who was to perform the surgery, as he explained the risks.

_"Of course, any surgery requiring anesthesia is dangerous, Mister Bates. And we won't know exactly what we are dealing with until we begin the surgery. If the damage is too great, or if infection sets in, we may have to amputate."_

_He let that information sink in before asking, "Can nothing be done?"_

_"We will do everything which can be done. But you have to know that it is a risk."_

The thought of losing the leg had plagued Bates since the conversation with the doctor at the clinic. He'd seen the men who developed gangrene in Africa, who ignored the fetid smell of their wounds even as they fought with doctors not to take their limbs. Bates had told no one about his concern, not even Anna. He justified his reticence in not wanting to worry her, but in truth, he had trouble facing the possibility of being even more crippled than when he married her. That fear tortured him even worse than the thought of death itself, another potential outcome if the surgery went badly.

As though reading his mind, Anna asked gently, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About the surgery," she said. "It must be worrying you. You've hardly said two words since we got here."

"I'm just thinking," Bates told her, forcing a smile. "No need to concern yourself."

Anna cocked her head to the side as she gave him a look of exasperation. "Of course there is a need. Have I not gotten it through your head yet that your concerns are my concerns? I'm your wife. You can share with me the things which bother you."

With a sigh, he nodded in agreement. He'd always found it difficult to discuss his troubles with others. And even with Anna he found himself reserved on certain subjects. But after pushing her away for so long, Bates knew that he had to begin reaching out again. Besides, she deserved to know what was on his mind.

"I worry the surgery won't go well."

She nodded slightly in understanding, her eyes betraying her own fear.

"Are you sure you want to go through with it?" she asked. "It seems like you're doing well on the morphine."

"I have to," Bates insisted. "It will just get worse and worse if I don't, and I will have no chance of ever being able to walk. I'll just be..."

He trailed off, not wanting to go further.

"You'll just be - what?" Anna demanded sharply. He said nothing for a moment, but she could practically see inside his mind and read his thoughts. "Crippled?" she suggested, the word sounding harsh in her sweet tone. "An invalid? A burden? You must know by now that none of that is true."

He looked up at her, wanting to dispel her naivety but unable to form the words. How could he come back to her in such a state - broken and unable to provide for her?

Unwittingly, an image of a Vera popped into his mind, young and fiery as she'd been just as their marriage truly began to deteriorate. He remembered the disgust in her eyes, her obvious disappointment in him when he came back from Africa. She'd married a soldier, a hero she expected to return from battle either with his shield or on it. Instead he'd returned to her a shell of his former self, injured and in pain. And she'd turned away from him, seeking out other men. Perhaps it should not have surprised him, but it did.

Bates knew that Anna would never do the same. Her honor and goodness would bind her to the vows she'd made forever, no matter the personal cost. But he hated the thought of her regretting her choice in tying herself to him.

"Why did you finally write to me when you did?" she asked, breaking through his thoughts.

The question was a reasonable one, although any answer would betray his own selfishness in wanting her near. But with a wave of understanding, he realized she needed to hear exactly that explanation.

"I missed you," he said slowly. "Every day apart from you was its own brand of torture. I still believe my reasons for leaving, and for staying away, were sound. But..."

He sighed deeply. "I need you," he confessed. "I need you more than I can possibly say. I felt I should do it all myself without you, but then I realized... what point is there in any of it if I'm still alone?"

Bates pressed on, "I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't come. I was a wretched mess at the cottage with you. Getting past the alcohol was difficult; it is difficult still, even at this moment. And the time after surgery won't be easy, even if all goes well."

She reached across the small distance between the bed and his chair, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it firmly. "I will stand by you through this and anything else," Anna told him. "And we will take each day as it comes."

He allowed himself to return the gesture, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

In her statement was all the courage he needed to go through with this terrifying next step.

* * *

Anna woke some time in the night.

She never slept well in London, not with the sounds of the city coming through the walls like a noisy draft.

John had stayed up later than her, sitting in his chair by the bed even as she changed into a nightgown and crawled between the sheets. He must have followed her to bed because he lay next to her now, his soft snores assuring her of his sleeping state. But Anna noticed that he slept on the edge of his side of the bed, as far from her as he could be. She wondered at this, whether it was a function of him sleeping alone for so many nights at the inebriate home or if it had to do with her.

Anna felt no such compunctions about sleeping beside her husband. In their many weeks apart, she had missed his warm and solid presence in their bed. She got up reluctantly, not wanting to leave him but also worried that her restlessness would wake John on a night when he most needed his sleep. Walking softly so as not to let the floorboards creek, Anna padded over to the window. She looked down at the dark and still street then lifted her eyes to the midnight sky.

"Dear God in Heaven," she whispered quietly, her prayer barely audible. "Please watch over and protect him. Please let his knee heal so we may return to the life we had before. But please..."

Her voice broke and Anna stopped to look over at her sleeping husband. He seemed so peaceful, the hard planes and worry lines of his face relaxed in sleep. His steady breathing reassured her.

Anna's lower lip trembled as she spoke, "Please God, don't take him from me. I want him to be healed and whole again, but... I'll accept whatever happens so long as he lives. He could never be a burden to me, not ever. I swear I will spend every moment of my life caring for him if he needs me. I will do anything at all, but please, don't take him."

A single tear escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek. "Amen," she finish softly.

* * *

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Yay for reviews! You guys are awesome. I appreciate the feedback as well as your continued trust in me to write these characters in such a difficult situation.**

**Special thanks to John for so much assistance with the medical aspects of this and following chapters as well as being a great sounding board for plot ideas. **

* * *

"We will perform the surgery tomorrow morning," the surgeon explained as they sat in his office at the Royal National Orthopedics Hospital the next day. The man had introducing himself as Mister Hall before sitting down behind his desk. Wasting no time, he said briskly, "Now, Mrs. Bates, your husband and I have discussed this already but I want to make sure you're both fully aware of what will take place."

Anna listened as the surgeon went on to explain the procedure to her and John, although she could tell that most of the information was directed at her. Her husband showed little surprise at any of the details, but every bit of it frightened her immensely. Surgery - any kind of surgery - was a dangerous and frightening undertaking, and so much was riding on this particular surgery.

"We will give him medication for the pain and use ether for the anesthetic. Despite the risks and the side effects, I believe it to be the best agent available," the man stated, looking at her as though she should understand. Anna glanced from him to John in confusion.

"Ether can be explosive," her husband told her quietly.

A cold chill went down Anna's back. While she knew the surgery would be dangerous, that it might not go well and that John might not be able to walk despite the doctors' best efforts, she had not truly understood the other risks until that moment. Fighting back her growing unease, she nodded uncertainly for him to go on.

"We will monitor him throughout the surgery," the surgeon chimed in, continuing with his explanation. "But afterwards, when he regains consciousness from the anesthesia, he will be extremely sick for several hours."

Anna paled.

"Are you sure you want to be here for this?" Bates asked her gently. "You don't have to if it bothers you."

"No," Anna said decisively, "I want to hear. I need to know everything about what they're going to do."

The surgeon picked up a film from his desk and moved to a table on the side wall, gesturing for Anna to follow him. While she stood up, Bates remained seated, obviously already having seen what Mr. Hall was about to show her. The man laid the film on a piece of glass set into the center of the table and flipped a switch which turned on a light inside the table. The light shone through the film, and Anna recognized the see-through material for what it was but had trouble understanding what it depicted.

"A few weeks ago, Mister Bates had several x-rays taken at a visit to a local clinic, which were forwarded to me with his referral. This one shows the embedded shrapnel." He pointed to several obvious spots on the film, and Anna suddenly recognized it as a picture of the interior of her husband's damaged knee. Speaking to directly to her, Mr. Hall went on, "We can also see the degeneration around where the metal has been rubbing against the bone and cartilage. Because the initial wound healed poorly, Mister Bates has had to compensate in walking with a limp which has progressively misaligned the joint and led to further damage. Based on the pain as your husband has described and what I see in this x-ray, he is suffering not only from the embedded shrapnel and resulting damage, but also arthritis and general wear and tear in the years since he was injured. And while the knee has been deteriorating, the shrapnel has been burrowing further into the joint all these years. It may have finally struck a nerve or just caused too much damage, which may be why your husband has been in such pain these past months."

Flipping off the light in the table, the surgeon walked back to his desk, leaning against it as he addressed both John and Anna, who had retaken her seat by her husband.

"But we won't know for sure the extent of the damage until we can see inside. Our main goal will be to find the shrapnel and remove it. In addition to being a major cause of the pain and causing further damage to the knee, if the metal comes into contact with synovial fluid, it could dissolve and cause lead poisoning. We will also need to address any other issues we encounter."

"What sort of issues?" Anna asked, her mind still whirling from the possibility of lead poisoning. She had little experience with medical matters, but she knew that this was all something she had to learn and understand, for John's sake.

Mister Hall informed her patiently, "Mister Bates likely has some permanent damage to his tendons and ligaments and as I mentioned, he suffers from arthritis. There may be more damage from the initial trauma which is not visible on the x-ray. We will also need remove the cartilage which is too damaged to heal."

The surgeon paused for a moment. "Mister Bates already knows this, but Mrs. Bates, you should know as well - if the knee is too damaged to recover, we may have no choice but to amputate the leg."

Anna's mouth fell open in shock. Immediately, she looked to her husband for his reaction, but he simply stared ahead at the doctor, his stone-like expression completely unreadable. The surgeon allowed his statement and the very dire possibility to settle in for both of them before pressing on. The moment of silence left Anna light headed as she tried to picture how John Bates could ever stand to live his life missing a limb. No wonder he'd been so adamant in suggesting that he would not return home with her if the surgery did not go as planned.

"Even if we succeed in removing the shrapnel and repairing what we can, there will still be a great deal of damage to that knee which simply cannot be repaired, not with modern medical science."

"But what about the pain?" Anna asked carefully, her voice remarkably steady even to her own ears.

"Minimizing your husband's pain is another chief goal of the surgery," the man answered. "Of course, considering the delay in dealing with the shrapnel for the past few months, there may also be nerve damage."

Anna closed her eyes for a moment, inwardly cursing herself for not insisting on John coming to a doctor sooner. He'd been so stubbornly resistant and she'd been a fool to listen to him.

The surgeon went on, "The pain may continue to some extent even after surgery and would need to be managed with morphine on an ongoing basis."

She nodded in understanding before glancing at John. He seemed to be dealing well with the harsh truths the doctor was laying out for them. But of course, he'd heard all this before. He had known what to expect with the surgery, the ways circumstances could go wrong. And even if everything went smoothly, other difficulties would lie ahead.

"What happens after the surgery?" Anna asked, wanting to know the full extent of the process.

"Mister Bates will need to recover for some weeks while we ensure the wound is healing properly. There is a great risk of him developing pneumonia or an infection while he is recuperating and he won't be able to move very much until he heals, so he will have constant care. If the surgery is successful enough for him to use the knee, he'll be allowed out of bed for short periods in the beginning until he regains his strength. From there we'll be able to assess the success of the procedure."

"And then he can go home?" she asked. The question did not betray a naivety of the situation, but rather a desperation for hope. Despite all the dire warnings and frightening images running through her mind, Anna needed the words spoken out loud. She needed the thought of a happy future to fortify her for the coming days.

Mister Hall smiled at her - his first real display of emotion since they'd arrived. "Yes, Mrs. Bates, then he can go home."

Anna looked from the surgeon to her husband. Reaching out to take his hand, he asked her, "Are you ready?"

With a smile, she responded, "I should ask you that."

"Now, once you are admitted, you will need to stay off your leg for a full day, Mister Bates, before we can perform the surgery tomorrow morning. And you won't be allowed any food or drink tonight..."

As Mr. Hall stood from his desk and proceeded to lead her husband to a room where he could change into a hospital gown, Anna followed them slowly. She watched as her husband moved on his crutches, slowly making his way down the long corridor. She was reminded of how badly he'd limped during his first months at Downton, leaning heavily on his cane for support. But even then, he'd stood tall and proud, an imposing presence which could not be overlooked.

While he was still as tall and large as before, she could see the slump in his shoulders caused by the crutches and the horrendous difficulties he'd faced over the past months. And he'd lost weight. While Anna was glad to see him free of the whiskey, she knew he was still recovering from the addiction, not only physically but on a deeper level. It was all so much to deal with in so short a time.

She knew she would always love him, no matter what came of the surgery. Even if he lost his leg, she would love him with no less than her full heart. But Anna knew her husband and how he saw himself. If he could not walk, he would not count himself a man, no matter how often she told him otherwise. And she worried what that loss of identity would do to him.

* * *

Bates felt rather foolish as he just lay in bed, waiting for the surgery which might cure him or end his life. Wishing they could just get on with it, he forced himself to rise above his growing anxiety. He did not mind the lack of food and drink for the evening, even if he was growing thirsty, but they would not let Anna stay with him. Unfortunately, the hospital maintained strict times for visitors - a couple hours in the morning and a couple in the evening, and with those over, she had to leave.

He would see her the next day several hours after the surgery but not before, so their parting had been bittersweet. Neither of them had said much, but he could still feel the press of her lips against his just before she told him, "I'll be here waiting for you. I love you John Bates, no matter what happens tomorrow."

"I love you," he'd responded.

Even though they had only been reunited for the past day, he found that he missed her presence as he lay alone in the hospital bed. He reached out to the small nightstand beside his bed and grabbed hold of a book he'd brought with him. Ignoring the words on the pages, he flipped through it until he found the letter he'd slipped into it earlier, the one he always kept with him. The envelope was old and worn and creased, having traveled many miles with him since he'd first received it that day in prison years earlier: the first letter to him Anna signed with her married name.

_My Dearest Husband,_

_You have no idea how wonderful it is to be able to write that word, even under these circumstances. My husband. We waited so long for this and now it seems our troubles are far from over. But I am glad we did not delay. No matter what comes, I can rest easier knowing that I am your wife. Though we had but one night together, the memory of what we shared will always be with me, a comfort and a joy until we are reunited. _

_I know in my heart that the truth will prevail and you will come home to me. We will have the happy life we talked about so long ago - a family, children, and even someday a hotel where we can work together. I have faith in our future, and I have faith in you. Never forget that._

_Your loving wife,_

_Anna Bates_

He used to read that particular letter over and over again when he was in prison. While he'd received many letters from her since that time, this one he treasured in particular. He kept it separate from the prison letters and those she'd sent to him via his solicitor while apart from her at the Dalrymple House. All her notes were special to him, but this one he carried on his person to refer back to during his most trying moments.

Anna's love was the only constant he'd been able to count on in his life. Vera had never been stable in her affections, instead proving fickle and disloyal very early in their marriage. His mother's faith in him wavered as he took to the bottle following his injury in Africa. The same injury effectively ended his career in the military. Being dishonorably discharged from the army and serving two years in prison for Vera's theft had crumbled it into dust. Even Lord Grantham, the man whose life Bates had protected and on one devastating occasion even saved, had almost dismissed him from service for his disability.

Only Anna showed unwavering faith. Only Anna continued to build him up and support him when the rest of the world tried to tear him back down. Even when he hurt her, when he left her or was taken from her against both their wills, even then she refused to abandon her belief in him. Even when he lost his way and could not believe in himself, her faith carried them both.

After re-reading her letter again, Bates felt himself begin to relax. Soon the surgery would begin and this would all be over, one way or another. And Anna would be waiting for him.

* * *

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Finally, after much build up and worry... the surgery. **

**I greatly appreciate those who take the time to leave a review or PM me on this and all my stories. Without feedback, it is just writing and submitting stories into a void. **

* * *

Anna felt as though her life had transformed into one long exercise in waiting. After waiting years for Mr. Bates to be free of his wife, she'd spent a year and a half doing everything within her power to free her husband from prison. Then, with their more recent troubles, she'd waited for any contact from her husband after he fled their home. And unlike the interminable months of his imprisonment, those weeks had felt almost unbearable as she imagined the worst fates that might have befallen him alone in London.

Now, her days of forced patience had transformed into hours of unending worry as she waited to hear how her husband fared through the surgery. While Anna knew that she would not be able to see him immediately after - he had to be monitored as he recovered from the anesthesia - the surgeon had promised to give her a report on how the procedure went. And then even if they did let her see her husband, he would be sick for hours from the ether.

While Mrs. Hughes had offered to travel to London to wait with her through the surgery, Anna hated asking that of the housekeeper, especially as they were in the midst of a large house party at Downton. And so she sat by herself in the hospital waiting room, startling at every sound. Ether was explosive, she remembered, fighting against a wave of fear as she thought of her husband in the operating theater.

But there were no explosions on that day. After the hours ticked down, the door to the room opened and Mr. Hall emerged in a fresh white coat, his expression unreadable.

"The surgery went well," he told her as she stood from her chair, and Anna let out the breath she did not realize she'd been holding. "His vital signs are stable and he's been moved to a ward for recovery."

Swallowing dryly, she nodded. "And his knee?" she asked.

"The damage was extensive, as we thought. We were able to locate and remove two pieces of foreign metal - the shrapnel from his initial injury. We also removed bits of tissue and ligament which were too damaged to heal."

She gave a nod of understanding before asking, "And do you think he will be able to walk?"

The surgeon gave her neutral look. "I can't say he won't, but time will tell," he said frankly. "But I'd prefer to speak with the both of you when he's awake and sufficiently recovered from the surgery."

"Yes, of course," Anna responded. "When may I see him?"

"Not for a few hours yet I'm afraid. And even then, not for long. You understand that it is important for Mister Bates to have plenty of rest. And he'll be in no fit state to converse for some time."

She looked him in the eyes as she stated, "Mister Hall, thank you for your efforts. I'll take whatever time with my husband that I'm allowed."

The surgeon gave her a courteous nod and left her. The waiting resumed.

* * *

Pain mixed with nausea in the tumbling confusion of Bates' mind. As he blinked his eyes open, bright light stabbed at him like invisible shards and he closed them once again. But without having a solid sense with which to anchor himself, he quickly grew dizzy and his stomach heaved.

He retched to the side for some moments before he straightened his head back, the slight movement exhausting. When he opened his eyes again after several long minutes, the white ceiling came into focus. Turning his head by a fraction, Bates noticed a woman in uniform sitting next to him with a metal pan. She spoke words his brain did not register, but part of him knew she was a stranger. He slowly understood where he was, fumbling back through his consciousness to find the word for 'hospital,' but he could focus on little else but his own misery.

The nurse helped him, reminding him to keep his body still and asking him about the pain. The agony in his leg was there like a fire behind a screen - he could see it and feel it but a thin facade kept it back. And every once in a while, a flame would reach through and burn a hole in that screen, sending shooting pain through his body.

Memories came back to him in bits and pieces, everything jumbled together in a confusing mass. Distantly, he heard the sound of rifles firing and drowned out by the percussive boom of a Krupp. Men were shouting until their voices gradually faded into the din of pained moans in the African field hospital. Captain Crawley stood over his cot, his young face full of equal measures command and barely concealed guilt.

_"You'll be all right, Bates."_

Bates certainly didn't feel all right, and only the steady pull of sleep afforded him any relief. As he blinked his eyes closed, he vaguely noticed a familiar figure with blue eyes.

When he woke again, the nurse had her hands on his shoulder, helping hold his head as was sick into the pan. Reality solidified, and for a moment he felt as though of all his life had been spent in that state, his head thick and aching as the blistering nausea competed with the pain in his knee to see which could overpower all his senses.

"Lie still, Mister Bates."

The nurse's voice was stern but calm and he followed the order like a good soldier. But there was no relief from his discomfort, nor from the pain.

In an effort to seek out distraction, Bates looked around the room. The multi-bed ward reminded him of the hospital where he'd recovered after returning from Africa, although much less crowded and noisy. Other women in white uniforms moved among the patients, but one stayed stoically by his side. He did not look at faces, unable to focus on individuals.

Between bouts of sickness, he fell asleep for short periods, although he knew not how long. Perhaps it was minutes or hours or even seconds. Time held little meaning when everything felt like an eternity.

Looking down at his leg, the source of the fiery agony that nearly overwhelmed his conscious mind, Bates saw it covered by a blanket. But he could not feel the weight of the thick fabric on his legs.

Panic hit him as forcefully as an explosion, and every vein in his body ran cold as he reached to pull back the blanket. He could not feel his legs. They'd taken his legs. Desperately, he ripped at it, but in his weakened state he could barely shift the heavy white fabric.

"Mister Bates!"

The female voice barely penetrated his mind until he felt her hands wrenching his fingers away from the blanket.

"My legs..." he protested, although the words came out as a moan. But perhaps sensing his concern, the woman pulled back the blanket to show him what lay beneath. Bates realized that he could not feel the weight of it because it was suspended over a metal frame so as not to directly touch his lower extremities. Both legs were there and with relief he watched the foot of his good leg move reflexively.

His bad knee, however, was covered with bandages. But it was still there, still whole.

"See, Mister Bates, your legs are still here," the woman informed him even as she leaned over to examine his wound. She began speaking to him more, but he could not focus on her words and soon her steady voice had lulled him back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

They allowed her a few minutes with him several hours after the surgery.

Still sick and groggy from the ether, John barely seemed to recognize Anna, blinking at her in confusion when he did open his eyes before turning away from her to be ill. His complexion was pasty and she could see a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

"This is a normal reaction," the nurse informed her. The kindly middle aged nurse reminded her a bit of Mrs. Hughes as she took care to keep John from moving too much in his discomfort.

John moaned slightly, obviously hurting.

"He's in pain," Anna said in anguish. "Can you give him nothing for it?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not for a while longer. We need to see clearly how he is doing coming off the anesthesia before we dose him."

The explanation made sense, but Anna hated seeing her husband hurting, even if he was too groggy and unaware to understand the reason.

The nurse allowed her to stay at his side a few more minutes before asking her to leave. "We have visiting hours again this evening," she told Anna. "If you come back then, he may be awake enough to talk to you."

She felt guilty for leaving him, especially as he looked so pale and sick, but she reminded herself that he was in capable hands with the nurse looking after him. While she resolved to find herself some food, having been too nervous to eat breakfast, she found that the knots in her stomach kept her from taking a bite of anything at the tea shop she located near the hospital.

As she sipped her cup of tea in place of eating the tiny sandwich squares she'd ordered, Anna put her thoughts in order. John needed her to be strong. Reminded of how she'd had to keep herself together while he was in prison, Anna put her hands on the table to keep them steady and stop the tremors which had begun.

"He's alive," she reminded herself aloud, whispering so no one else could hear. "He's alive and well and that's all that matters."

The surgeon sounded optimistic. And even if the surgery had failed and he could not walk without pain, at least he was alive. They would not be separated. They were still married. Weighed against the other troubles they'd faced, Anna took heart that this situation they would face together, as husband and wife. She would not let him leave her again, not even if she had to sit by his side morning, noon, and night.

"At least he wouldn't be able to run away from me again," she commented to herself with wry humor born of tremendous stress and fear.

Taking a deep breath, Anna forced herself into a moment of calm. Her stomach growled at its emptiness, unsatisfied with nothing but tension to fill it. She took a bite of one of the small sandwiches, chewing deliberately before swallowing one bite, then another. The food settled heavily and made her feel sick at the remembrance of her husband so ill from the effects of the ether. But she had to be strong. He needed her to take care of herself so she could be there for him.

Anna ordered a second plate of sandwiches with another cup of tea and finished both before leaving.

* * *

When she returned hours later, the nurse led her into her husband's hospital ward. Anna noticed immediately that he looked better. His color had improved, and the pan beside him was empty, so he had not been sick recently.

He smiled at her in obvious recognition, but she could see that he was still in pain.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. A patient was asleep in the bed to one side of him and the bed to the other side was empty, so she moved a chair to sit on the empty side.

"I feel drunk," he observed, his voice thick and slow as he turned only his head towards her. "Drunk and sick. Don't like it much."

"Its the anesthesia," Anna told him. He made no comment, so she told him, "Has the surgeon been to see you?"

John shook his head groggily. "Don't remember. Only remember the nurse."

The nurse Anna had spoken with earlier stood off to one side, keeping an eye on her patient. Bates nodded at her.

"...don't recall her name." He assigned particular importance to this bit of information, as though he felt he should know it but could not pluck it from his brain.

"She seems nice enough. I'm sure she won't mind telling you again," Anna said, favoring him with a patient smile.

"Yes," John agreed, although his mind had clearly disconnected from the statement. A few seconds went by before he refocused on her. "Remember your name... Anna." He reached out a hand for her, and she took it in both of hers. "Anna," he said again, letting the name roll off his tongue as though just saying the word gave him pleasure.

"Are you in much pain?"

John inclined his head slightly, as though to assess his body, and then he nodded. "Some," he allowed. Looking closely at her, he said quietly, "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I."

"I survived."

"Yes, you did."

She blinked back the tears of relief that began to form in her eyes. She had never been more scared during those hours of waiting.

"My leg's still there," John added thoughtfully. "That's a good sign."

Anna burst out with a tight laugh, her gradual elation a counterpoint to his contemplative assessment. "Yes, it is a very good sign."

He nodded and then sighed, his face twisting with sudden pain. He gasped aloud and Anna quickly looked towards the nurse. The white-clad woman stepped forward. "Sounds like we need to adjust his morphine," she said. "And then I will need to irrigate his wound. You can leave if you don't want to see."

Anna shook her head. "No, I won't leave him."

The morphine helped John settle again, although it did nothing for the remnants of his nausea and grogginess. Warning Anna not to get too close, the nurse pulled up the blanket suspended over John's leg and began removing the bandages covering his wound. Even from a distance, sitting on John's other side, Anna noticed immediately that the incision was a long, straight line from his lower thigh over his knee and down to the middle of his chin. Clamps held the pieces of flesh together. The nurse filled a syringe with liquid and very slowly injected it into the wound.

"Why do you do that?" Anna asked.

"To keep it from getting infected," the nurse answered. John groaned at the sensation and Anna turned back to him.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she offered her husband.

"He should drink more," the nurse suggested, nodding to a nearby glass of water.

"Thank you, Nurse..."

"Smith," the woman answered with a kindly look. "Nurse Smith."

Smiling at the familiar name, Anna took the glass and held it to her husband's lips so he could drink. "See, her name is Nurse Smith. That shouldn't be too hard to remember."

Once he'd swallowed, John looked at her, obviously too distracted by her presence to afford much attention for the nurse. "Anna," he said her name again. "Anna May Smith."

"Anna May Bates," she corrected him. "Mrs. Bates, always and forever. Don't you forget that, Mister Bates."

But he was already asleep again.

* * *

TBC


End file.
